


Rain Keeps Falling

by bird_by_snow



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-08
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 07:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10458555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bird_by_snow/pseuds/bird_by_snow
Summary: They couldn't erase what had happened, but maybe their future didn't have to be marred by the past.





	1. Ghosts of the Past, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written as a sequel to my story Look My Way, which takes place immediately following the movie. However, it can also be read as a stand alone.

  _“My point, Rapunzel, is that fairytales only have happy endings because they stop before the shit hits the fan.  Why do you think they gloss over the rest of the story with that ‘happily ever after’ bullshit?  It’s because Cinderella’s problems didn’t go away after the ball.  If anything, they probably got worse.  Think about all the consequences that would’ve resulted from her marrying above her class.  How long do you think it was before the Prince regretted his decision and took it out on Cinderella?  I bet they got into some pretty heated arguments after the ball and he knocked her around a bit.”  He paused and took a sip of his coffee. “But no one wants to read about that.”_

_\---John Bender, Look My Way, Ch. 6_

 

**_June 1993_ **

John heard an ominous rumble of thunder off in the distance as he exited the highway and headed into the heart of the northern Chicago suburbs.  It had been threatening to rain since he had rounded the southern tip of Lake Michigan back in Indiana, and now it seemed that he was finally catching up to the storm.  He hoped that the weather would hold for at least twenty more minutes, so that he could make it to his motel and unload his bags without getting completely drenched in the process.

The illuminated ‘Welcome to Shermer’ sign soon appeared out of the darkness and greeted him as he crossed the border into his hometown.  John wasn’t sure, however, that ‘welcome’ was what he was feeling.  It was more like dread.  There was something extremely unsettling about returning home after being gone for so long.  And the foreboding nature of the coming storm didn’t help his mood any.  He felt like the weekend was going to be all about waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that had him on edge.  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, hoping to get rid of some of his nervous energy.

The unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew, however, as he drove through the streets of Shermer, and realized that he barely recognized a town that he had once known like the back of his hand.  Everywhere he looked, something had changed.  There was a Wal-Mart now, where the bowling alley had once stood.  The abandoned lot where he had played baseball and smoked his first cigarette had been paved over.  A gas station replaced the pizzeria/arcade where he had spent much of his teenage years.  It seemed as though nothing from his past had been spared.

John had never considered himself a sentimental person, but for some reason it really bothered him to see how much Shermer had changed in his absence.  It made him feel like an outsider.  But then, he supposed, that was exactly what he was.

Driving further into town took him past an imposing brick structure that he had never thought to look twice at in the past.  Now, however, John found himself inexplicably drawn to the building, and before he knew it, he had pulled his car into the traffic loop out front.  Under the yellow-orange glow of the sodium lights, he saw that although the school had updated the signs out front and gained a new addition, it was still recognizable as his old high school.

Minutes ticked by, but all he could do was stare through the windshield at the main entrance.  He vividly remembered what it was like having to pass through those doors every day, knowing that there was a good chance he would be harassed by Vernon.  He remembered believing at one point, with absolute certainty, that there was nothing in that building that was worth his while.  There was a time when he would have given anything not to have to spend six days of the week within its walls.

But after nine years, the animosity he had once felt subsided.  It was replaced instead with a deep longing to be a part of those carefree days again.  The greatest joy he had ever known had been a product of one single detention that he had received during his senior year.  If only time had stopped back then.  Back when his story still had a happy ending.

Vernon’s words haunted him as he sat there.   _“You want to see something funny?  Go visit John Bender in five years.  You’ll see how goddamn funny he is.”_  

“You’d be proud, Dick,” John muttered out loud, “It only took three years for my life to become a fucking joke.”  Self-fulfilling prophecy or merely just coincidence, he had been doomed to fail since that day. 

John sat there for another minute, unsure of what he was waiting for.  The building was dark, and everyone had long since left for the day, but that didn’t stop him from thinking that there was a chance, however slim, that Vernon knew that he was sitting in front of the school.  He looked over at the doors again, this time expecting to see the Dean of Students come running outside after him, ready to make good on the threat that he had made nine years ago.  And while it was unlikely that Vernon could still kick the living shit out of him, he could certainly ruin John’s weekend.  John decided that he wasn’t taking any chances, and put the car back in drive.

He drove away from the school, mostly on autopilot, and out of habit turned down North Street, the one road he had wanted to avoid.  By the time he realized where he was going, it was too late to turn around.  He was going to have to confront yet another building from his past.  One that was chock-full of bittersweet memories.  With all of the changes that had been made in the town, John held out hope that it had been torn down too.  It would be fitting to see a McDonald’s or something more modern in its place.  There was no way that it would still be— _Damn_.  John blinked to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. 

The little diner was still there, and it looked exactly as it had on his way out of town.  Its cheery neon lights were a comforting sight and they made him feel a little less like an outsider.  He wanted to stop in for a quick bite to eat, but he knew that doing so could potentially dredge up thoughts and feelings that he would rather leave buried.  Empty stomach factoring heavily into his decision, John set his reluctance aside and pulled into the parking lot.  The gravel crunched beneath him as he walked toward the entrance.  It had been six years since his feet last touched the ground in Shermer.

A bell signaled his arrival in the mostly empty eatery.  A gray-haired woman in the kitchen poked her head out the pass-through window and greeted him.  “I’ll be right with you, hon.  Just gotta drop these fries.  Don’t know why I have to run the damn thing…”

John glanced around the place as he waited, and felt as though he had stepped through a door into the past.  Nothing had changed.  The seats were covered in the same red vinyl, and the floor still had the same black and white checkerboard pattern.  Even the trucker sipping his coffee at the counter wasn’t out of place—he could have sat down in 1987 as easily as he had that day.  John looked to his left and half-expected to find Claire waiting for him in their regular booth.  But of course _she_ wasn’t there.  It had been six years since he had last seen Claire.

He wondered if she still ate there without him.  It had become a favorite hangout for them, ever since their first breakfast together.  That was the morning that he had gone off on his rant about the unrealistic nature of fairytales.  He had thought that he had known everything about life back then.  Though, he wasn’t entirely convinced now that he hadn’t.  As predicted, there had been no happily ever after for them.  In the end, it had just been him, alone in his car, driving off toward a destination unknown. 

The demise of their relationship had snuck up on him, but only because he hadn’t allowed himself to see it coming.  The first year had gone relatively smoothly, and there had been nothing to indicate that it wouldn’t continue that way.  The trouble had started during the second year—after Claire had moved in with him.  It had been a huge mistake to live together, John could see that now, but at the time, happiness and a need to prove the world wrong had made him blind.

By the third year, the happiness had disappeared, and staying together had felt more like an obligation than anything else.  It wasn’t long before the princess had started to resent having been taken out of her castle and thrown into the proverbial slums.  What a fucking villain he had turned out to be.

They argued—constantly—about money, and the night John had left Shermer had been no different.  He had been picking up extra shifts for two weeks to cover the bills for that month.  He knew that without the overtime pay, they wouldn’t have enough for the electric bill and the rent.  Unfortunately, after getting his paycheck, John had discovered that his new boss didn’t pay time-and-a-half to anyone who had been at the shop less than six months.  He had gone home that night with a smaller than expected amount of money, feeling frustrated as well as exhausted.

He had noticed the shopping bags as soon as he had walked into the apartment, and they had worsened his already bad mood.  He hadn’t been able to comprehend how Claire was able to spend money so carelessly, and he had suspected her of trying to get them evicted so that she would have an excuse to move back home.  He had wanted to call her on it, but hadn’t wanted to start another fight.  Not that night, anyway.  He had just wanted to have a quick smoke, eat something, and then go to bed.

He had been in the middle of searching the couch cushions for his spare lighter when the shopaholic herself had appeared in the living room, and had started berating him about how he’d been late or how he hadn’t cleaned something that he had said he would.  John couldn’t remember the specifics anymore, not that they mattered.  The important thing was that the two of them had argued for a while, and then he had just snapped.

After six years, John still remembered the way that her cheek felt beneath his palm as it made contact.  He could still hear the horrifying sound that had accompanied it.  When he closed his eyes, he could still see the tears running down her shocked face.  He carried those memories with him.  He couldn’t escape from them.  Not even on the best of days.

Claire had recovered from her initial shock quickly, and had started screaming at him, but John had only been able to stand there.  It had felt like the room had collapsed in on him and taken all of the air with it.  He had tried to sputter out an apology, but nothing that he had been able to think of to say had seemed like enough.  He had wanted to console Claire.  He had wanted to hold her and to reassure her that everything would be okay, and that nothing like it would ever happen again.  He had wanted to tell her that he loved her.  But he hadn’t been able to do any of those things.

He had only been able to stare at his trembling hands while had she thrown things at him in anger.  It had been like a scene from his childhood.  She had played the part of his mother and he…he had turned into his _father_.  That was the thought that had broken him, and that was when he had known that he would have to leave.  Leaving was the only thing, in a sea of jumbled thoughts, which had made sense.  So, he had clung to it.  He couldn’t have stayed, not without risking hurting her again.

Once he had come to that realization, he had quickly torn through their bedroom and stuffed his clothes into a duffel bag.  He didn’t have much of value in the apartment, but on his way out he had grabbed the only things that meant something to him—his two guitars, and his music collection.  He had left everything else, including the wad of cash from his recently cashed paycheck, because he had figured that he had owed her at least that much.  Then, he had walked out the door, and hadn’t looked back.

He had hit the road that evening and driven for a good five hours, until he was almost in Canada.  By that time, he had been so thoroughly exhausted, that he had pulled over at a rest stop and had slept the remainder of the night in his car.  In the morning, he had gone looking for work. 

In essence, he had started his life over.  He had cut everyone from his past out of his new life, with the exception of Pete McNally, his best friend since childhood.  For five years, John had successfully remained in seclusion.  Then, just about a year ago, someone from his past had finally tracked him down.

He had been expecting Brian to show up one day and to beg him to come back, but it had been Andy who had called him.  He had said that he was a cop, and that he had used his “connections” to find John’s phone number.  John had almost hung up on him, but the former jock had sounded surprisingly sincere.  He had said that he didn’t care why John had left, he just wanted to know that he was doing okay now.  They talked a few more times after that.  Andy had even come to visit, which had actually been fun, until he had made his compelling argument for why he thought that John should come back to Shermer for a weekend.  And like an idiot, John had listened.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait.  You wanna sit at a table or the counter, hon?” a voice asked.

John blinked at the waitress, who was now standing in front of him.  His heart leapt when he realized that it was Betty.  Betty who knew his regular order.  Betty who gave him a free slice of pie on occasion.  Betty who had just asked him a question.  “Uh…what?”

“You gonna order somethin’?” she tried again, this time slower.

When it was apparent that she didn’t recognize him, the illusion broke, and John was thrown back into the present.  His stomach churned and he suddenly had the feeling that what he was doing was very wrong.  He didn’t belong there, in that diner, not anymore, and he had to get out.  But Betty was still waiting for a reply.  “Oh, uh…no.  Men’s room?” he finally managed to choke out.

“Down the hall,” she pointed.  Just where it had always been.

“Thanks,” he uttered, and quickly rushed past her down the hall. 

He leaned on the sink for support.  His mind was racing with a combination of adrenaline, confusion, and just about any other thought he had ever had.  He glanced up, and the man he saw reflected in the mirror looked old—much older than the teenage face John had expected to see.  

He hadn’t been in Shermer thirty minutes and already it was messing with his head.  John wondered how he was going to make it through an entire weekend.  Why on earth had he thought that coming back was a good idea? 

He quickly exited the diner and got into his car before he had time to rethink the whole thing and head back home to Detroit.


	2. Ghosts of the Past, Part 2

The cursor on Claire’s computer screen kept blinking.  It was rather annoyingly waiting for her to type something, but all she could do was stare at it.  The article that she was attempting to write, a review of a new nightclub, was not coming together as easily as she would have liked.  She had brought the file home with the intention of finishing it that night, but her mind was not cooperating.  All she could think about was her past, and events that had happened nine years ago were somehow much clearer in her mind than the details of the club she had visited on Wednesday night.

Claire decided to take a break and to come back to her article later.  In a worst-case scenario, she could finish writing it at work tomorrow, but she sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.  She was planning to leave early in order to make the wedding rehearsal, and didn’t need to add anything else to her already full workload.  Claire saved her file to a disk, and then got up and wandered through the kitchen.  She surveyed the contents of her fridge before grabbing a can of Diet Coke, and continuing on her way out to the small balcony.  The view of downtown always helped to clear her head.

As Claire popped open her soda, it let out a slow hiss, seemingly voicing her frustration for her.  She was feeling more anxious than she had expected, and she could’ve done without all the reflecting on the past that the impending wedding was bringing on.  Personally, she blamed Andy.  It was his fault that the Breakfast Club would be together again for the first time since the summer of 1985.  Well, they wouldn’t _all_ be together.  One person was never coming back.  And maybe that was why she couldn’t concentrate.

Six years later, and Claire still hadn’t completely gotten over John.  The love that wouldn’t go away had been the source of much of her guilt over the years.  How could she still love him?  How could she not give her whole heart to any of the men that she had dated since?  She supposed that it was John Bender’s everlasting revenge that she be alone forever, and unable to love anyone with the same intensity with which she had loved him.  It seemed like a lifetime ago, but the memories were slowly resurfacing. 

Claire had first moved into the city eight years ago after she graduated from high school.  John had already been living there for about a year when she had moved in with him.  Their apartment was pretty run-down by her standards, and it didn’t have a good view of anything except the building next door, but she hadn’t cared.  It was twenty minutes away from her parent’s house and that was all that had mattered at the time. 

Her mother, predictably, had been extremely upset when Claire had announced that she was moving out.  Her father, on the other hand, hadn’t been at all surprised, and had very vocally offered her anything that she needed.  She had suspected that he had been so insistent on supporting her because he had known how much it would infuriate her mother.  Claire had stubbornly refused his money, aside from what would cover the cost of her tuition, because she was tired of feeling used.  She was determined to prove how independent she was, consequences be damned.

In the beginning, things had been great, and Claire had been certain that her love for John and his for her was all that she would ever need.  A new sense of freedom had come with everything she had done, and she had found a quaint humor in things like their kitchen only having two cupboards, one of which was over the fridge.  But the novelty had quickly worn off, and at some point her feelings for John had no longer been enough to keep her going.  

Claire had discovered that her new freedom had come at a price, and no matter how much she had tried to deny it, she had been unprepared for living a lifestyle that didn’t allow her to just buy whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.  Actually having to think about where money was coming from had been a foreign concept.  Heated arguments with John about her spending habits had become an everyday occurrence, and somewhere along the way they had lost respect for each other. 

When the bills had started piling up, as well as the demands of taking care of an apartment, holding down a part-time job, and keeping on top of her coursework, Claire had felt like she was heading for a breakdown.  It wasn’t until she had gotten drunk at a college party, that she had realized that there was a way to get some relief from all the stress in her life.  She had wondered back then, if perhaps her mother had had the right idea all along.

Drinking had worked for a time, but eventually she had needed to consume more and more alcohol just to make it through the day.  And while her friends might have looked the other way, John had never been reluctant to express his displeasure with her coping mechanism.  She hated that— _hated_ that he had become mature and responsible, while she hadn’t been able to adjust to living a life that Daddy didn’t finance.  

After a while, every piece of her relationship with John had fractured.  Looking back on it, Claire thought that she must have realized that all it would take was one last push to make the whole thing crumble down.  Why then, she wondered, had she done nothing to prevent the inevitable collapse?

She had been cooking supper when John had come home that night.  She had gone out to the other room to greet him, and they had wound up in another argument.  She had started it, but he was the one who had ended it.  The slap had turned out to be the last straw.  Claire’s world as she had known it had suddenly come to a screeching halt.

At first, all she had been able to feel was the sting of the impact, but when that had given way, her heart had broken with immense disappointment.  Anger had followed shortly after.  Claire remembered shouting at him and throwing things.  She also remembered telling him to get out.  And that was exactly what he had done. 

He had packed a bag and fled the apartment quicker than she would have thought possible.  She hadn’t even tried to stop him, she had just watched him go.  It had registered in her mind that he was gone when the apartment door had closed behind him, but at the time, Claire hadn’t thought that he would be gone _forever_.  She had cried for a couple of hours that night, and then drank until she passed out.

Claire had felt lost for a long time after John had left.  He had been her life for three years.  He was always going to be her future.  Without him—without that path, she hadn’t known what to do.  She had been so consumed with pain and confusion, that she had done the only thing she could to try to stop it.  She had pushed everything that reminded her of John away.

In doing so, she had almost lost everything, including all of her friends.  Andy and Allison had been among the first casualties.  They had wanted to know what had happened.  And what could she have tell them?  Not the truth.  She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell them _that_.  Not when lying had been so much easier.

_“I don’t know where he went!  He just packed up his stuff and left,” Claire insisted, feigning ignorance.  Her head was pounding and she wished that they would leave so that she could go back to bed._

_“Bullshit!” Andy exclaimed.  “This is the same crap you pulled in high school when John thought you were going out with Parker.  You just broke up and none of us knew what was going on.  It might have been forgivable then, but now it won’t fly.  We’re your friends, and I think we deserve the truth.”_

_Claire picked at her nail polish in order to avoid looking him in the eyes.  “I don’t know what else to tell you guys.  We just decided that it wasn’t going to work out.  I mean, we argued all the time, so…”_

_“That’s a pretty lame excuse,” Allison commented.  “And if it was a mutual agreement, then why would he have to disappear without telling anyone where he was going?”_

_They stared expectantly at Claire, but she didn’t offer up any further explanation, she just couldn’t.  She couldn’t even bring herself to think about that night, let alone tell someone else about it.  She just wanted to blame John and move on._

_“Fine, whatever,” Andy finally said.  “Let’s go, Alli, she obviously doesn’t trust us enough to tell us what’s really going on.”_

Andy and Allison had both returned to college that Fall still mad at Claire, not that she had cared at the time.  It was years before she could even think about trying to rebuild her relationship with them.  She suspected that Brian was at least in part to thank for their eventual turn around.  He had been the one friend who had always looked out for her—and the only one she hadn’t managed to drive away.

It started to rain, but Claire lingered on the balcony for a few moments longer.  There was something comforting about the city lights at night, and the constant movement of traffic down below made her feel a little less alone. 

 

***

 

“Brian!” Andy shouted over the sound of the baggage carousel.

Brian turned around and saw a familiar face heading towards him.  “Hey, Andy,” he greeted him, allowing Andy to pull him into a ‘bro hug’.  When he released him, Brian looked around for Allison.  “Where’s the bride-to-be?” he asked, thinking that she might have ridden along to the airport.

“At home, keeping four of her bridesmaids company,” Andy said, rolling his eyes.  “Honestly, I was glad to have a reason to get out of there.”

Growing up with three older brothers apparently hadn’t prepared Andy for a house full of women.  Brian thought of his younger sister’s sleepover parties and laughed, “I can sympathize.”  

“I don’t know how you did it, man.”

“I mostly just locked myself in my room,” Brian said.  “Is one of those for me?” he asked, pointing to the two umbrellas in Andy’s hand.  He had heard the rain pounding down on the roof of the ramp as he was exiting the plane, and had hoped that Andy had parked somewhere close by.

“Yeah, but I don’t know how much help they’re gonna be now.  The wind really started to pick up a few minutes ago.”

“Good old Chicago weather,” Brian mused.  Then, seeing his suitcase come around on the conveyor belt, said, “Here, can you hold this for a second?” and slid the strap of his carry-on bag off his shoulder and handed it to Andy.  He had just enough time to rush over and grab his suitcase before it went around for another pass.

“Did you pack bricks or something?  Why is this thing so heavy?” Andy asked when Brian returned with his luggage.

“I’ll take it back if you don’t think you can handle it,” Brian offered, holding out his hand.

Andy waved him off.  “Relax, I’ve got it.  Seriously, though, is our wedding present in here?”

Brian chuckled.  “No, I brought my laptop with me so that I could do some work on the plane.”

“Ooh, fancy,” Andy teased.

Brian shrugged.  “Not really.  It’s just the standard ThinkPad 700 that came out last year.  Although, it _is_ pretty powerful and _does_ have a 120MB hard drive,” he boasted.   “Plus, I don’t even need a mouse because—”  Sensing Andy’s eyes were about to glaze over, Brian changed the subject.  “So, uh, how’s Claire been doing?  She hasn’t called me in a few months.”

“That’s because she’s been up to her eyeballs in work since her promotion,” Andy told him as they started walking toward the exit.  “Of course, that’s only going on what Allison has told me.  I haven’t actually seen her since February.”

“I’m glad that I’m not the only one she’s abandoned,” Brian joked.

Andy smiled, but then quickly turned serious, “Hey, listen…speaking of people we haven’t talked to in a while… I have something to tell you.”

Brian felt his spider-sense tingle.  “Oh?”

“I had a buddy of mine, a detective in my precinct, track Bender down last year.”

It was unexpected, but not unwelcome news.  “Where is he?” Brian asked.  “Do you know how he’s doing?”

“Detroit,” Andy replied, “And he’s doing fairly well for himself if you can believe it.  I guess he worked a bunch of odd jobs for a while until some carpenter took him under his wing and let him apprentice in his shop.”

Brian took it all in slowly.  He had almost given up hope that they would ever find out what had happened to John.  “Good for him,” he finally said.  “Do you think you could give him my number?  I’d love to talk to him again.”

“You can talk to him tomorrow.  I asked him to be in the wedding.”

Brian stopped dead in his tracks; his spider-sense was setting off full-blown sirens in his head now.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea either?” Andy asked off the look on Brian’s face.

“Who else—?”

“Allison.”

“Right.”  He was almost afraid to ask, “And Claire?”

“She still doesn’t know that I found him.  I never quite knew how to bring it up.”

Brian didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from his best friend, but for now, he supposed that he didn’t have a choice.  He sighed, and resumed walking.  “What exactly did you tell John to convince him to come back to Shermer?  Something tells me that he wasn’t jumping at the chance to see Claire again.”

“Well, no… he didn’t agree to come until after I told him that Claire would be in New York on an assignment, and couldn’t fly home in time for the wedding.”

“Which isn’t true.”

“But he doesn’t know that.”

Brian shook his head in doubt.  “I have a bad feeling about this, Andy.  I think they split up for a good reason and I’m not so sure it’s wise to try to push them back together.”

“It’ll be fine.  Once they see each other again, they’ll remember how in love they were.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

Andy frowned.  “Allison said that too.”

Brian was curious about one thing, though.  “Did John tell you why he left?”

Andy shook his head.  “No, but I never came right out and asked him.  We didn’t really talk about the past too much.  I didn’t want to spook him.  He danced around the subject a bit, though.  I know he and Claire had an argument, and I think maybe they really did just get fed up with each other.”

“Maybe,” Brian replied, but he had his own theory about what had happened, pieced together from what Claire had told him, and from what she had left out.  The way John had left had been oddly abrupt, and Brian suspected that something a lot worse than ‘just an argument’ had taken place.  He also had a feeling that it wasn’t just Claire who had been left hurting that night.

“All I know,” Andy said, “is that they’ve both been miserable for the past six years.  Claire’s a workaholic, John fled the state, and neither one of them has been in a serious relationship since they broke it off.  Even if they don’t get back together, maybe they can at least work out their issues, so that they can both finally move on.”

Now that was something Brian could agree with, even if he still had reservations about the way the reunion was going to occur.  “I just hope that they don’t ruin your big day.”

“I know,” Andy said, “Allison already threatened me with bodily harm if they do.  And since I’m kind of attached to the body parts she threatened, I’m really hoping they’ll keep it civil.”

But Brian didn’t know if that was possible.


	3. Going Through the Motions

Claire impatiently tapped her fingernails on her desk as she waited for the final draft of her nightclub review to print out.  She was already running about thirty minutes behind schedule, and having to wait for the printer to get to her article was probably going to add another ten.  As it was now, she would have just enough time to make it to the church, but only if she didn’t stop at her apartment on the way.  Fortunately, she had prepared for just such a delay.  Her invitation and notes were already in her purse, and the chocolate brown shirt-dress that she was wearing was casual enough for the wedding rehearsal, but dressy enough for dinner that evening. 

Claire stopped tapping her nails as an idea for an article suddenly struck her.  She grabbed a pen and scribbled down a few pointers for how a woman could go from work to a night out with minimal changes to her make-up and attire.  Then she jotted down a note to remind herself on Monday to ask one of the department’s photographers to get someone to model the clothes she had in mind.  In the mean time, the printer had spit out her article, so Claire gathered up the pages, stapled them together, and then tossed them into her editor’s inbox.  Finally done for the day, she called out hurried goodbyes to her co-workers as she rushed for the door. 

By the time Claire arrived at the church, a group of thirty or forty people had already gathered and were busy chatting amongst themselves.  Andy and Allison each had six attendants, so Claire knew that it would be crowded, but she wasn’t expecting quite as many as were currently there.  She recognized some of them—all three of Andy’s sisters-in-law and their kids were there—so it seemed as though the close-knit Clark family had shown up in full force, even though most of them weren’t in the wedding party. 

Claire dropped her keys into her dress pocket and waved hello to the women that she had met at the bridal shower.  For someone who didn’t have many friends in high school, Allison had certainly made up for it later on in life.  Most of Claire’s fellow bridesmaids were Allison’s friends from college, with her former roommate serving as the Maid of Honor.  Claire had only talked with the women on a couple of occasions, but they all seemed nice from what she could tell. 

Standing back from the crowd was one of her long-time friends, and the person she was most excited to see at the wedding.  He looked like he was waiting for someone and she figured that it was probably her.  She noticed that he was wearing a nametag that had _Brian Johnson, Groomsman #4_ , neatly written in marker on it.

She greeted him immediately.  “Hey, Stranger.” 

“Hi!”  Brian smiled warmly at her and held out his arms.

“It’s so good to see you again,” she said as she hugged him tightly.  “I know I owe you about twelve phone calls, and that makes me a terrible friend, but hopefully you can forgive me.”

Brian laughed.  “I heard you were working a lot.”

“Oh god, yes.  Trying to meet all my deadlines _and_ come up with new ideas has kept me tremendously busy.”

“But you’re doing okay, though?  You’re not getting too stressed?” Brian inquired, scrutinizing her face for any sign that something might be amiss.

Claire smiled at Brian’s concern.  He had never stopped looking out for her.  “I’m doing fine,” she told him sincerely.  “And thankfully I finished the rough draft of my article last night, so I only had to work a half day today.  Otherwise, I would’ve missed all this.  So, tell me, have they been getting along?” she asked nodding to the two sets of parents.

“Splendidly,” Brian answered, “Considering that they’ve each been sticking to their own side of the church.”  He had watched Allison’s parents stay huddled together, interacting as little as possible with anyone, the whole time he had been there.

“I’m surprised that Allison’s parents are even here at all today,” Claire commented.  As she understood it, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds had, for the most part, remained emotionally detached, but were willing to spend money on whatever their daughter wanted—a fact that Allison had happily taken advantage of.

“Oh, but haven’t you heard?” Brian asked, as though he had some juicy gossip to share.  “They’re paying for the wedding of the century.  Even _they_ couldn’t ignore _that_.”

“I know!” Claire exclaimed.  “Mrs. Reynolds even asked me if I could do a feature on the wedding for the paper, if you can believe it.”

“Wow.  What did you tell her?”

“Well, I had to explain that the lifestyle section isn’t a society page, and that the most I could do was to ask to proof-read the announcement before it went to print.”

 “I bet she was disappointed.”

“Probably,” Claire acknowledged, “But her expression never changes, so who knows?  Anyway, the last I heard, she was trying to get an article in the country club’s newsletter.  Let them deal with her.”

But Brian only half-heard Claire’s reply because as she was talking, he saw John enter the church sanctuary.  All these years later, and he still looked essentially the same.  Claire was going to recognize him immediately and that had Brian worried.  There was no way she going to be okay with what Andy had planned.  He needed to get her out of there.  Maybe he could gently break the news to her once they were someplace quiet.

“I should go say hi to the others,” Claire said.  “I’ll talk to you—”

“Hey!  Why don’t we go somewhere else and catch up?” Brian blurted out in a panic, trying to prevent Claire from turning around.  “Have you had lunch?  Or maybe we could get some coffee?  You can tell me all about work,” he offered. 

Claire gave him a puzzled look in return.  “But the rehearsal’s going to start soon,” she said.  “Somehow I don’t think they’d appreciate it if we left.”

Brian waved off her concerns as he watched Allison greet John only fifteen or so feet away.  “Rehearsing is over-rated.  I’m sure we can figure it out on our own.  They don’t need us here, c’mon.”  He tugged her arm.

“Are you feeling alright?” Claire asked, thinking he might be jet-lagged or just tired.

“Yeah, it’s just, you know…uh, wedding jitters?” he tried, unsuccessfully.  He was sure that it sounded just as lame to her as it did to him. 

Claire raised a skeptical eyebrow at Brian’s excuse.  “I think that only affects the people actually getting married,” she said.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Brian assured her, even though he was anything but.  His mind was busy running through all of the possible ways that the imminent meeting between the ex-couple could go.  None of them ended well, and at least two of them ended with him getting a black eye.  “I’m just nervous.”  That at least was the truth.

“That’s why you need to rehearse,” Claire told him, remembering that Brian didn’t like to get up in front of large groups of people.  She wondered if that was what was making him act so strangely.  “If we walk through it enough times, you’ll be able to relax.  We’ll talk later, okay?”  She gave him a pat on the arm for reassurance and then left him to go say hello to her other old friends.

Brian frowned, it wasn’t really okay.  He supposed that meant that it was time for him to start thinking up a plan B.

 

***

           

Andy had just finished handing one of his mischievous nephews back over to his sister-in-law after pulling him down off the altar, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.  He turned around and was greeted by Claire.  “Hi!  I was wondering when our mild-mannered reporter was finally going to show up,” he said, pulling her into with a friendly hug.  “I thought that maybe you had to fly off and stop a speeding train or something.”

“No, nothing so exciting.  I just got stuck at work slightly longer than I wanted,” Claire explained.  “I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

“Nope, and I’m sure that the wedding planner will find you shortly.  She’s been handing out nametags all morning.  She made me put _this_ —”, he gestured scornfully to the colorful, _I’m the Groom!,_ button pinned to his shirt, “—on _before_ we even got to the church.”

Claire laughed and said, “I guess she didn’t want you to forget that you were getting married tomorrow.”

Andy rolled his eyes.

Now, the burning question on Claire’s mind, “So, who am I walking down the aisle with?  Brian?”

“Um,” Andy pretended to think for a second, “No, I think Brian was paired up with Allison’s friend, Kristen.”

“Oh.”  Claire was slightly disappointed to hear that she wouldn’t be with her best friend.  “Am I with one of your brothers then?”

Now that the moment had arrived, Andy wasn’t exactly sure how to tell Claire the truth, so he answered her the best way that he could, “No, I’m pretty sure that you’re going to be escorted by one of my single friends.”

That bit of news made up for Claire’s disappointment.  “Ooh, is he a cop?” she asked, excited to meet someone new.  More importantly, she wanted to know, “Is he cute?”

“Uh, he’s not a cop, I knew him before I joined the force,” Andy said evasively.  “And I guess he’s not bad looking.”

“You had a cute, single friend that you never introduced me to until now?” Claire teased.

Andy shifted nervously.  “Yeah, well… I wasn’t sure you’d like him.”

“Where is he?  Introduce us and I’ll find out.”

“Um…” Andy stalled.  He wondered if it was too late to ask John to leave and get someone else to fill in for him.  Or maybe he could convince Allison to elope and they could forget the whole wedding thing.  He was getting the feeling that he should have listened to her when she had first told him his idea was stupid.  This is what he got for trying to think for himself for once.  “Well, he’s…”

But luckily, Andy didn’t have to finish that sentence because the wedding planner chose that exact moment to interrupt them.  “Hi, I was told that you were Miss Standish,” she said.

“I am,” Claire replied, shaking her hand. 

“Great!  I think everyone’s here now.  I’m Maggie, the wedding planner, by the way.  Here you go,” she said handing Claire a nametag, which informed her that she would be Bridesmaid #5.  “If you’ll just put this on, we can get started shortly.” 

Claire set her purse down on the table next to her so that she could peel the back off of the nametag.  “There,” she said as she stuck it to her dress, “Now I just need to find the mysterious Groomsman Number Five.” 

“He was talking to the bride a minute ago when I gave him his nametag,” Maggie helpfully told her.  “Oh!  Mrs. Clark, I need a word with you!” she exclaimed as Andy’s mom walked by, and then left to talk to her.

Claire looked across the room and saw the back of the man talking to Allison.  He had shoulder-length, dark brown hair, and was wearing a long-sleeve flannel shirt, jeans frayed at the cuffs, and black Doc Martens.  Claire had never been a huge fan of the grunge look on anyone who wasn’t from a Seattle-area band, but she supposed that she could live with it.  At least his hair didn’t look straggly.

Andy’s friend shifted his weight, turning slightly, and when he did, Claire had a better view of him.  She didn’t need to read his nametag anymore to know who he was.  She had long ago memorized every inch of that face.

_“All believing in fairytales does is make you delude yourself into thinking that this is some kind of story where we ride off together into the sunset and get a happy ending.  But it’s not going to happen,”_ his voice in her head reminded her.

Then, one argument from her past that she had thought that she had forgotten suddenly appeared, and Claire felt like her legs would surely give out beneath her.

_“I can’t believe how completely, utterly worthless you are!  God, just the sight of your face makes me sick!”_

 “No,” she quickly said in denial, leaning on the table for support and shaking her head in an attempt to get rid of the painful memory.  “No, no, no,” she tried again, but it wasn’t going away.  The sight of John made it all come back.  “Why—  _How_ is he here?”

Andy’s ‘brilliant’ plan was looking less brilliant to him by the second.  “I, uh, I invited him,” he said quietly.

Claire tore her eyes away from John and narrowed them at Andy, focusing on her anger for strength.  “You knew where he was?!”

“Only for the past year,” Andy sheepishly admitted, now feeling incredibly guilty.

“I can’t believe you!”

“Let me explain, please?”

“No!  I can’t do this.  Not here, not—I have to go.”

“Claire, wait!” Andy shouted as she rushed toward the door.

At the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name, John turned around, just in time to see a redhead quickly exiting the church.  _Motherfucker_.  He stalked over to Andy, and stopped him before he could run off too.  “Son of a bitch!  You fucking set me up!” 

John didn’t know if was angrier at Andy for lying to him, or at himself for falling for it.  All of the reservations that he’d had about coming back to Shermer—all of the doubts—they were all justified in that one moment.  He should have seen it coming.  He _should_ have stayed away.

“I only wanted to help,” Andy explained.  “You were obviously miserable, and Claire—”

“Is better off without me,” John finished for him.  “I told you that before.”

 “But if you could just talk her, I’m sure—”

“Sporto?  You don’t know anything about what happened, so shut up the hell up,” John forcefully requested, and then headed for the exit at the back of the church.

“Well, that was a spectacular failure,” Andy commented to Brian, who had come over to stand next to him.

“I’m still not exactly sure what you thought would happen,” Brian said, having predicted this outcome from the beginning.

“I had hoped that they would act like adults and calmly talk things over,” Andy replied, realizing how ridiculous that sounded when he said it out loud.  “Now what?  Should we go after them?”

“I’ll see if I can find John,” Brian said, thinking he might still be around since he had exited in the opposite direction of the parking lot.  “If I can’t, then I’ll go talk to him at his motel later.”  Somehow, Brian always ended up being the peacemaker of the group, not that he really minded.

“What about Claire?” Andy asked.  “Should I go after her?”

Brian shook his head.  The last thing Claire needed was to be confronted by Andy while her emotions were still running high.  He had faith that she wouldn’t do anything stupid, but if she was pushed, he didn’t want to imagine what would happen.  “No, it’s probably best to let her calm down before you try to talk to her again.  She’s probably halfway home already anyways.”  He would have to call her later to check on her if she didn’t return.

Andy nodded sullenly.  “Okay, I’ll let Maggie know that we’ll be down at least a bridesmaid for now.  Brian, you know that I didn’t mean—”

“I know, but I’m not the one that needs reminding of that right now.”  Brian nodded in Allison’s direction.

Andy turned to see his fiancée glaring at him from across the room.  Yeah, he definitely should have listened to her.

 

***

 

Brian quickly caught up with John, who, like he had thought, hadn’t gone far.  He was standing just outside the rear exit, lighting a cigarette.  “Hi, John.”

John looked up.  “Hey, Big Bri, long time, no see.”

“No kidding,” Brian agreed.  “So…how have you been?”

John flipped his lighter closed with a loud clack.  “Just peachy.” 

“Andy said that you’re a carpenter now?” Brian prompted, in an attempt to get a conversation going.

“Yeah, well, you know me,” John said, “I’m good with my hands.  I was too stupid to do anything involving brains.”  He managed a wry grin as he told Brian, “The irony is, and I think you’ll appreciate this, that I actually have to use trigonometry when I’m building stuff sometimes.”

Brian smiled at that.  “I guess that summer math class you took paid off in more ways than one.”

John nodded.  He wouldn’t have graduated if it weren’t for Brian’s help in the summer after his senior year.  “I owe you one,” he admitted. 

“Let’s just say we’re even now,” Brian said, remembering the night John and Claire had come to pick him up after he’d had a fight with his parents and had wanted to kill himself.  He had spent that night with the two of them, watching movies and having fun instead of wallowing in his sadness.  He had never forgotten those times that he had spent with the two of them.  “You know, we all missed you when you left,” he casually mentioned. 

John tensed back up.  “I know, and Claire was devastated, I’ve heard it all from Sgt. Sport.”  He took a long drag from his cigarette, trying to look disinterested.

“You haven’t heard it from me,” Brian said firmly. 

John slowly blew the smoke out.  “Who cares?  Same shit, different pile,” he said.

Brian cared.  He wanted to uncover the truth of what had happened.  And to do that, he would need to get past John’s defenses.  “No, not the same shit,” he insisted.  “Andy doesn’t know the whole story, as you’ve already pointed out to him.  He wasn’t there for Claire when she needed a friend the most, but _I_ was.  _I_ was the one who had to listen to her cry and try and comfort her.”

John watched the smoke disperse out into the sky, as he tried very hard to tune out Brian’s lecture.  He wondered if they were an item now.  Maybe Brian had come out there to tell him to stay the hell away from his girl.

Brian wasn’t deterred by John’s apparent non-attentiveness, however, so he continued with his story.  “Claire was a mess after you two broke up, so I asked her to come back to California with me.  I figured that she could go to school out there, and that we could get an apartment together.” 

At the time, Brian had thought that if Claire was with him, he could take care of her and help her, like she had once helped him.  How naïve he had been to think that a simple change in scenery would have fixed Claire’s problems.  He was pretty sure that he had known then—when he left to go back to college—that Claire had been heading toward disaster.  He still felt bad, even now, for leaving without getting her help first. 

“But she turned me down.  She didn’t want to leave Chicago,” he told John, and then added, “Probably in case you came back.  She still loved you, even in spite of whatever happened that night.”

“She shouldn’t have,” John finally said in a low voice.  “She should’ve just forgotten all about me the second I skipped town.”  After all, isn’t that why he had left?  So that she could move on?

“Oh, believe me, she tried,” Brian informed him, thinking back to the phone call that he had received from Rick Standish that had him packing for a impromptu trip home during the spring break of 1988.  “Did you ever forget about her?”

John knew that he should say yes.  He knew that he should play it cool, act all nonchalant, and pretend like he had forgotten about her years ago so that Mr. Math Club could have some peace of mind.  But he didn’t like the thought of the two of them together.  So he didn’t answer.

Brian took John’s silence as a ‘no’.  “I know that you loved her just as much as she loved you and I remember that there was a time when you both were truly happy.”

John felt the knife in his heart twist a little deeper.  “What can I say?  I fucked it all up,” he said bitterly.  “That’s just what I do.”

“Is that why you left?” Brian asked.

“Sure.”

“There has to be more to it than that.”

John shrugged.  “Whatever.”  He was ready for the conversation to be over.

But Brian wasn’t going to let him off so easily.  “I know that you hurt her that night,” he said, “But I also think that she hurt you just as bad.”

“No,” John said resolutely, shaking his head.  “What I did was much worse.”

Now they were getting somewhere.  “I don’t believe that,” Brian replied.  “Otherwise, why would you have left like that?  She must have—”

“What the fuck do you know?!” John yelled, his patience for dealing with Brian suddenly gone.  “Did you plan this whole reunion with Clark so that you could satisfy your goddamn curiosity?  My life isn’t a fucking physics problem that you can solve if you study it hard enough!  I hit Claire.  I fucking _hit_ her because she managed to get under my skin way worse than my father or Vernon ever did!  There!  Are you fucking happy now?”  He angrily stared Brian down, daring him to say something, anything, so that he would have a reason to storm off again.

But Brian, finally having the confirmation that he was looking for, calmly held John’s gaze.  “What did she do?” he asked.  He knew that John wouldn’t have resorted to violence without a good reason.

John felt his anger deflate and protectively crossed his arms over his chest.  “Nothing.”  This was on him, and him alone.  He was the scum of the earth, and she was the princess.  That made him the bad guy, not her.  Everything that happened that night had been his fault.

“I know what Claire’s like when she’s been drinking.  She must’ve said or done something pretty bad to strike a nerve in you like that,” Brian guessed.

“I don’t remember,” John mumbled, shifting his gaze now down to the dirt.

“Sure you do,” Brian gently pressed.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” John said quietly, “So just drop it.  I can’t take back what I did.  I can’t ever make it right.  I just ran away, proving to everyone just how much of a coward I really am.”

 Brian was finally beginning to understand why John had fled.  “You’re not a coward.  I think leaving was the only way you knew how to protect Claire.”

“Pfft,” John dismissed his claims.

“No, I mean it.  You did the right thing, John.  Walking away was the best thing you could’ve done in that situation.  It probably saved you both.”  Brian really believed that, even though Claire had been thrown into a downward spiral after the breakup.  He thought that if she and John had stayed together, it would’ve only gotten worse.  Perhaps both of them were only able to mature by being apart.

“I’m still an asshole,” John insisted, wanting desperately to have something left to cling to.

“If you were really an asshole, you wouldn’t care that you hurt her,” Brian countered.

_Damn_.  The dork had done it, he had knocked down all of John’s carefully constructed walls.  Everything that he had surrounded himself with over the past six years, the image that he’d had of himself, had been destroyed in the span of ten minutes.  He looked at Brian for a moment and then shook his head in disbelief.

“What?” Brian asked.

“You’ve changed.”

“Yeah, I have.”

John looked away again.  He still had no idea what the point of all this was.  “So, what now?  You want me and her to kiss and make up?  Pretend like everything’s okay just because you remember that we used to be happy?”

Brian carefully thought about his answer before replying with a question of his own, “Do you know why I wanted you guys to get back together in high school?”

“’Cuz you were stupidly idealistic?”

“No, but I _was_ being fairly selfish.  You two were my friends while you were together, but after you broke up, you both stopped talking to me.  To experience that friendship and then have it taken away really hurt, so I was desperate to fix things between you,” Brian explained.  “Now, though, I don’t care if you get back together or not.  Claire will still be my friend regardless of what happens.”

“Then why—?”

“Because what you’ve failed to understand is that when you left like you did, it ended things so abruptly that neither one of you were able to get any sense of closure.  If you don’t fix that, you’ll never be able to move on with your lives and find happiness again.”

John had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming next.  “And I suppose that you want her to be able to ‘move on’ so that she can ‘find happiness’ with you?”

Brian let out a small laugh at the absurd notion.  “That crush was over a _long_ time ago,” he told John.  “I don’t, uh, ‘swing’ that way anymore, as they say.”

John cocked his head to the side and looked at Brian with interest.  “Well, I didn’t see that one coming.”

“You’re not going to get weird on me, are you?”

John snorted.  “What right do _I_ have to judge anyone?”

“That doesn’t stop some people,” Brian commented off-handedly before sighing and trying to collect his thoughts.  “Look, all I’m saying is, try to enjoy yourself this weekend.  Me, Andy, Allison, we’re still your friends, and we really did miss you.  You can worry about Claire later, but for now, I think that we should probably get back in there or else we’re going to upset the bride.”

“Yeah,” John agreed as he ground his cigarette butt into the dirt, “And if we piss her off, she’ll sic Sporto on us and he’ll be forced to use those tired old wrestling moves from his glory days as a champ.”

Brian smiled.  “I think Andy would actually enjoy that.”

“I don’t know about you,” John said, “But _I_ personally wouldn’t.”

Brian shook his head as he opened the door.  “Nah, he’s not my type.”

Which made John wonder, “Just so we’re clear—”

“I’m not now, nor have I ever been, attracted to you.”

“Good.”  That was exactly what he wanted to hear. 

 

***

 

“Okay people, that’s it for today,” Maggie announced.  “Now, don’t forget, we’ll do it tomorrow exactly how we rehearsed it today.  Well—” she turned to John and his stand-in escort, “—not _exactly_ the same in your case.  You’re sure Miss Standish will be feeling better tomorrow?”

 “We’re sure,” Andy answered, even though he was anything but.  He figured that he should probably stop by her apartment later, and maybe bring her some sort of peace offering.  He wondered what kind of flowers said, ‘Sorry I’m an ass, but please still be in my wedding’?

“Terrific,” Maggie replied.  “Otherwise, one of the men will have to sit out.”

“I don’t mind filling in again tomorrow,” Andy’s great-aunt offered, gripping John’s arm tighter.  John sent Andy a look of death.

Andy stifled a laugh.  “Thanks Aunt Lily, but Claire will be here.”

“Pity.  I haven’t had a handsome young man at my side in years.  Of course my William had enough sense to keep his hair out of his eyes,” she rambled.

Luckily, Maggie interrupted Aunt Lily before she could go any further down memory lane.

“Yes, well, I’m sure that everyone’s starting to get hungry by now.  Remember, dinner is in one hour at Fratelli’s!  If you need directions, I have maps!”

Thankfully, the old woman finally let go of John’s arm.  He quickly ditched her and sat down in one of the pews.  He tried to decide what to do while waiting for the crowd to disperse.  On the one hand, he thought that he should probably leave town that night.  It would be the smart thing to do.  But on the other hand, he found himself wanting to buy in to what Brian had babbled on about.  And it didn’t hurt that staying meant that he would get to see Claire again.

He was struggling with whether or not he could be that selfish when Allison came over and sat down on the pew next to him. 

“Looks like you found an admirer,” she said of Aunt Lily.

“Lucky me,” he replied flatly.

Allison thought he looked tired.  “How is it being back here?”

“Pretty fucking weird.  And just really…I don’t know…”  He shook his head, at a loss as to how to describe it.  Ever since crossing the border back into Shermer, his emotions had been all over the place and he had been unable to think clearly.

“Overwhelming?” Allison guessed.

John shrugged.  He guessed that was an apt description. 

 Allison looked across the room to her husband-to-be.  “Andy meant well.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, though he was unsure which one of them she was trying to convince.

“You two aren’t going to get into a fight tomorrow, are you?” she asked.

“Who, me and Andy, or me and Claire?”

“Both.”

“No promises, but I’ll try to behave.”

Allison would have liked a slightly more reassuring response, but she would take what she could get.  She stood up.  “Good, and hopefully the new arrangement will help.”

“What new arrangement?  Me and Aunt Lily?”

Allison laughed, and she was tempted to tell John that she had made Aunt Lily an official bridesmaid, but then she decided that he had already been through enough for one day.  “No, I spoke with the wedding planner and had her switch you and Brian around, so now he’ll be with Claire and you’ll be with Kristen.” 

“Oh.”

 The disappointment on John’s face was brief, but it was there, and it was all that Allison needed to see to know that he still had feelings for Claire.  She pondered this new piece of the puzzle.  It was especially interesting in light of the way that he had left.  “I just figured that you would want to keep your distance from her,” she said, fishing for more information. 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” John admitted, thinking of Claire’s feelings.  No matter how much he wanted to stand next to her again, he didn’t think that she was going to want to be anywhere near _him_.

Allison didn’t think that he was going to offer anything else up that afternoon, so she decided to let him have his space.  She just had one last thing to say to him.  “I might not get a chance to talk to you again before you leave, so I want you to know that I meant what I said to you earlier this afternoon about being glad that you were here.  It wasn’t just some small talk bullshit.”

“Thanks.”

Allison bent down and gave him a hug.  “You’d better come back and visit us again.”

“We’ll see.”  John honestly had no idea if he would ever want to come back to Shermer again once he had left for the second time. 

Allison gave him a meaningful look.  “That wasn’t a question.”

John crossed his arms across his chest in response.  “And that wasn’t a ‘no’.”

Allison stuck her tongue out at him as she was leaving and finally got him to crack a smile.  She went away happy.

“Basket case,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head at her crazy antics.

It wasn’t long after Allison left before John heard someone else sit down, this time in the pew behind him.  Apparently, he was the man of the hour.  He wished that someone had sent him a memo.  John glanced back over his shoulder, expecting to find that Andy had come to make amends.  When he saw who it was, he rolled his eyes.

Brian pretended not to notice.  “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“Yeah, I promised a little old lady that I’d take her out to dinner.  What’s your excuse?”

“I’m riding with Andy to the restaurant,” Brian said, “And it looks like your little old lady is leaving with her family.”  He pointed to the exit where Aunt Lily was being helped out the door by her daughter.

“Damn, I can’t believe she actually stood me up,” John said, feigning disappointment.

“So, why are you really still here?” Brian asked again, although he was fairly certain that the answer would have something to do with Claire.  “I don’t think Claire will come back to the church, but there’s a good chance that she’ll show up to the restaurant.”  She had been asked to give the toast, an honor that Brian was hoping she wouldn’t want to miss, in spite of however angry she was at Andy.

“Then maybe I should just go back to my motel,” John said.

But before Brian could reply, they heard Mrs. Clark call out, “Is this anyone’s purse?”

Brian turned around to look.  He recognized the leather purse that Mrs. Clark was holding up as the one that Claire had been carrying earlier.  Apparently, she had left it on the back table.  He got up from the pew, told John not to go anywhere for a minute, and then went to retrieve Claire’s belongings. 

After he assured Mrs. Clark that he would safely return the purse to Claire, he walked back over to John and promptly dropped it in his lap.

John looked up at Brian in confusion.  “Do I look like I need to accessorize?”

“It’s Claire’s.  Consider this an opportunity to get your foot in the door,” Brian replied.  “It might be the only chance you get too, so don’t screw up.  And also, I think that you should know that you’re not the only one who had to deal with the consequences of your own actions.  Claire struggled with a lot after you left.  Things that didn’t have anything to do with you.  So talk to her at dinner tonight, and really listen to what she has to say.”

John wasn’t sure what the hell that meant, but he agreed to listen anyway.

“There’s my ride,” Brian said, seeing that Andy was waving to him.  “C’mon, you can follow us over to the restaurant.”


	4. Truth Will Out

John sat in his car with Claire’s purse on the passenger seat, and watched the last of the cars file out of the church parking lot.  He was supposed to be following Andy over to the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner, but at the last minute, he’d changed his mind and decided to take back some control over his life.

He had come to the conclusion that if he and Claire were going to talk, it should be in private, and not at dinner in front of an audience.  He didn’t know if she had gone home, but he would wait outside her door all night for the chance to explain if it came to that.  Actually, waiting would give him the opportunity to figure out what exactly it was that he was going to say to her because he still hadn’t worked that part out yet.  He was too busy dealing with more pressing matters.  Like the fact that he didn’t know where Claire lived.

The answer, of course, was sitting on the passenger seat.  All John had to do was open up Claire’s purse and take out her wallet.  It sounded easier than it was, however, and he had yet to work up the nerve to do it.  It felt like spying on her, but short of driving around until he found a payphone and then hoping that she was listed in the phonebook, it was the only option he had.  He rationalized it by telling himself that it would be okay—that he would just reach in, get what he needed, and then put everything back the way he had found it.  She would never know that he had gone through her things.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, John summoned the courage to unzip the bag and peer inside.  She carried around just as much make-up as he had remembered, but had also stuffed her purse with a lot of papers and old receipts, a crap load of pens, a small spiral-bound notepad, and a pager.  He guessed that at least the last two items were work related.  When he tilted the bag, the notepad shifted and revealed a slim wallet underneath.  He gingerly reached in with two fingers and fished it out. 

Fortunately, her driver’s license right in front when he opened the wallet, and he didn’t have to go searching for that too.  He pulled it out of its slot so that he could read the address.  She had an apartment downtown, on a street that he recognized, and it would probably take him about fifteen minutes to get there, assuming that he didn’t get lost.  It had been a long time since he’d had to navigate around Chicago, but he was fairly certain that he remembered how the grid system worked—as long as that hadn’t changed in his absence too.

As John returned the license to its original spot, a glossy corner sticking out of an otherwise empty pocket caught his attention.  He told himself to ignore it, and to just put the wallet back in her purse, but for some reason he couldn’t.  He had to know what it was. 

John carefully pulled the paper out of the pocket, but instead of satisfying his curiosity, he only ended up feeling confused.  It was an old, worn photo of him at age seventeen.  He remembered the night that Claire had taken it.  She had borrowed Allison’s camera after the prom and had snuck up on him while he hadn’t been paying attention.

_John looked up when he heard the shutter click.  “What the hell?”_

_Claire grinned triumphantly back at him.  “I wanted a picture of you.”_

_“Allison already took lots of pictures of me for you.”_

_“I know, but I wanted one picture where you weren’t making a dumb face at the camera.”_

_He laughed.  “I thought you liked my dumb face.”_

_“I do, but you just looked so handsome standing there in your tux, not being an idiot, that I couldn’t resist.”_

_He pulled her over into an embrace and tried to wrestle the camera away from her.  “Just for that, I’m going to have to burn the negatives,” he teased._

_“No, you can’t!” she exclaimed.  “Allison!  Quick!  Come get your camera!”_

Claire had taped that picture to her dresser mirror as soon as Allison had given her the envelope of developed prints.  It had stayed there for a year, until she graduated, and then John assumed that it had gone into a box or into an album.  He’d had no idea that she had carried it with her.  John pushed the photo back into place and returned the wallet to her purse.  He had no idea why she was _still_ carrying it.  But maybe it meant that there was hope. 

Maybe she wouldn’t slam the door shut as soon as she saw him.

 

***

 

Claire stood on her balcony for a long time, just thinking—trying to understand why John had come back as suddenly as he had left.  His return had raised a number of questions that she didn’t have answers to, and that left her feeling a bit unsettled.  Questions such as, where had he been?  Had her friends stayed in touch with him the whole time?  Was she the only one that didn’t know that he was going to be at the wedding?  How could he just stand there and talk to Allison like he had never left?  Why had it been so easy for him?  She could only guess.

She heard the phone ringing inside the apartment, but ignored it.  She wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a little while longer.  She had barely managed to scratch the surface of how she felt about John’s reappearance—she certainly wasn’t in the mood to talk about it yet.  Brian’s voice drifted out onto the balcony as he left a message on her machine.

“Hi, Claire, it’s me.  I hope you’re okay, even though you’re not answering.  Maybe you’re on your way back right now so you aren’t listening to this, but maybe you’re not, and you’re upset and that’s why you’re not picking up.  I’ll keep talking just in case.  Everyone’s on their way to the restaurant now, so if you decide to come back, don’t go to the church.  Oh, and if you’re looking for your purse, don’t worry, it’s safe.  Um, I guess that’s it for now.  I really hope that you decide to—”

Claire closed the sliding glass door behind her and cut him off.  She wasn’t sure that she could go to the dinner because she wasn’t sure if she could ever face John again.  Him being there in the flesh forced her to confront the skeletons that she had abruptly shoved into her closet when he had left.  She hadn’t thought about that night in a very long time—almost six years.  Countless bottles of alcohol had managed to suppress the real memories, while her pride in turn had created alternate ones.  She didn’t like to remember the truth.  Not because of what _he_ did, but because she was deeply ashamed by how _she_ had acted. 

_“You’re late,” she called to him from the kitchen when she heard the apartment door open._

_“Someone has to work to pay for the rent,” he replied from the other room._

_She could hear the tiredness in his voice already._

_“You went shopping again, I see.”_

_And there was the restrained frustration that often accompanied it._

_“Yeah, so?” she asked, trying to keep things light.  She just hoped he wouldn’t ask—_

_“How much?”_

_She hated that question.  She hated what it implied.  “I don’t know,” she told him.  She hated that that was the truth._

_“How. Much?” he asked again, this time more sternly._

_He hadn’t raised his voice yet, but she didn’t appreciate his tone.  She didn’t need a baby-sitter.  “I don’t fucking know!” she shouted back.  She was rapidly losing faith that their conversation would end without an argument.  “I wasn’t keeping track, alright?  I got paid today, and I went shopping.  I used my own money, so I don’t see what the big deal is.”_

_She went out to confront him and saw that he had knocked over one of her bags while looking for something in the couch cushions.  “Hey, watch it!” she exclaimed, rushing over to pick up her new clothes off the floor.  “These are dry clean only.”_

_“Of course they are,” he said, lifting up the papers on the coffee table to reveal the lighter that he had apparently been searching for._

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”  She sensed an impending attack._

_He flipped his lighter open and closed with an annoying click-clack, click-clack as he gathered his thoughts.  Finally, he said with a forced evenness, “I thought you were going to try to cut back on the spending.”_

_She knew he hadn’t said what he’d really wanted to, but she didn’t need to hear the actual words to get his meaning.  She immediately went on the defensive and turned the tables on him.  “Oh, so it’s okay for you to buy cigarettes and weed, but I can’t buy some new clothes every now and then?”  She knew it was wrong, even as she was saying it.  And from the look on his face, he wasn’t going to let it slide._

_“Oh, get the fuck off your high horse already.  I didn’t buy the pot, Pete brought it over.  And it’s one thing to buy clothes if you actually fucking need them, but it’s another fucking thing entirely to blow your whole paycheck on shit you don’t need when I’m fucking standing here wondering how in the hell to keep the fucking electricity from being shut off!!”_

  _He opened his wallet and pulled out a handful of bills.  “I just cashed my paycheck too.”  He threw the money down at her feet.  “There you go, your highness, buy yourself a few pairs of shoes to go with your new dresses.  I’m sure that the money for the rent will magically appear from somewhere.  It always fucking does.  Why don’t I just fucking live at work from now on?  Then you’ll have all the money you want.”_

_“You’re such an asshole!” she shouted back, emphasizing her point by throwing a pillow from the couch at him.  “You don’t care what I look like, or want me to have any fun.”_

_He caught the pillow and tossed it aside.  “God, Cherry, you know me so well, that’s exactly how I feel.”_

_“I told you not to call me Cherry!”  She threw a magazine at him that time, but he easily dodged it._

_“Sorry, Cherry, I forgot.  As you so frequently like to remind me, I’m pretty stupid.”_

_Claire paled when he reached down to pick up the report that she had accidentally left on the coffee table._

_“But you know what?  I’d rather be a complete fucking moron who works hard, than a lazy bitch whose favorite pastime is getting drunk.  What a big fucking surprise to see that you failed all your classes this semester.”  He threw the letter back down, and shook his head in what she could only imagine was disgust._

_She narrowed her eyes at him.  How dare he?  How dare John Bender of all people get on her case about grades?  “I didn’t fail all of them.  And I am not drunk!”_

_“But you have been drinking.”_

_Somehow, he always knew.  Usually it bothered her.  That night, she didn’t care.  “So?” she challenged him.  “What are you going to do about it?  Are you going to tell on me?”_

_“Yeah, I’m going to tell your daddy,” he taunted.  “I’m sure he’d be real proud of his precious little girl right about now.”_

_“Don’t you do that,” she warned.  “Don’t you push your daddy issues on me.  Just because your daddy never loved you—”_

_“God, Cherry, that’s pathetic, even for you.”_

_She advanced on him, thinking that it would intimidate him and that he would back away, but he never moved.  “Oh, I’m pathetic?” she asked as she moved even closer.  “ I’m pathetic?  At least I’m trying to get an education and do something with my life.  What about you?  What have you done?  Absolutely nothing!  You haven’t done a single useful thing with your life since you graduated.  I can’t believe how completely, utterly worthless you are!  I can’t even stand to be around you anymore.  God, just the sight of your face makes me sick!”  _

_She was so riled up that she couldn’t stop, and the words were already on her tongue before she realized what she was saying.  “Now I know how your mother felt having to look at you every day.  No wonder she turned to drugs!”_

_His hand made contact on her cheek with a startling slap.  They stood frozen for an eternity, each staring at the other—neither one daring to move, neither one daring to breathe.  Eventually time caught back up with them, and she started crying.  It was too much.  She sank to the floor amongst her shopping bags and held her head in her hands._

_“I—I—”_

_“Get OUT!” she yelled, throwing a pair of jeans at him.  “I hate you!” she screamed, grabbing another handful of clothes and hurling them at him.  “I fucking HATE YOU!”_

It had been so easy to take the moral high ground after John had left and wasn’t around to defend himself.  After all, _he_ had hit _her_ , anyone would’ve sympathized with that.  She had played the victim in her mind for so long, making John the criminal and refusing to admit she was also at fault, that it was really unforgivable.  And now that John was back, she couldn’t continue with her illusion in good conscience.  She couldn’t keep putting all that blame on his shoulders.  That wasn’t who she was anymore.   

Claire sighed.  Maybe she should go to the restaurant after all.  She hadn’t meant to skip out on the wedding rehearsal like she had.  The least that she could do for Allison and Andy was show up at their dinner, look like she was having fun, and give a killer toast.  And while she was there, if she happened to run into John and he didn’t refuse to speak to her, then maybe she could give him the major apology that she owed to him. 

The only snag, she realized, was that the address for Fratelli’s was in her purse, which she had left at the church and was now apparently in Brian’s possession.  She was about to go in search of the phone book so that she could call the restaurant, when she heard a knock at her apartment door.  She smiled.  _Good timing, Brian_.

“Did someone let you in?” Claire asked as she opened the door.  “I didn’t hear the buzz—” 

Instead of being greeted by Brian’s friendly smile, she found herself staring directly into John’s dark eyes.  Claire tried desperately to ignore the spark of attraction that she felt, but couldn’t keep her traitorous heart from fluttering in her chest.

“Yeah, some guy in the lobby let me in,” John explained as he gazed back at Claire.  She was still as beautiful as he had remembered—absolutely, amazingly, stunningly beautiful. 

Claire chose to ignore the issue of her building’s rather lax security for the time being and instead asked John another question that she hoped he’d have an answer for, “Why are you here?”

“I came to return your purse,” he said, holding her bag out in front of him as a peace offering. 

It was an answer, and a fairly reasonable one at that, but it didn’t even begin to explain why he had come back to Shermer or why he was standing outside her apartment door instead of Brian.

John’s response was met with a blank stare, so he reluctantly added, “I also wanted to apologize.”  His cards were all on the table now.  The next move was hers.

Claire was torn.  Five minutes ago, she had been convinced that begging for his forgiveness was the only option.  But now, standing in front of him again, she felt herself fall back on old habits.  “It only took you six years,” she finally said, retrieving her purse from his outstretched hands.  “What makes you think I’ll accept?” 

John stared down at his Docs, hoping for some kind of sage advice.  He had known that it wasn’t going to be easy.  Part of him had actually wanted her to slam the door in his face and reject him outright.  At least then, he wouldn’t have to struggle with what to say.  If by some chance he made it through the next few minutes alive, he was going to kill Brian and Andy both.

Claire caught a glimpse of the diamond earring when John tucked his hair behind his ear.

 _“I want you to keep it this time. No matter what happens, it’s yours.”_  

The painful memory made her chest tighten. 

“Well?” she prompted, a little more harshly than she meant to.   So much for the new Claire.

 John looked up and gave her a sincere expression.  “You don’t have to accept.  In fact, you probably shouldn’t.  But it’s something I have to say.  And I want to try to explain.  Just give me two minutes and then I’ll leave.”  He knew it was asking a lot—more than he had any right to ask of her—but he had to try.

Claire sighed and invited him in.  “I never could resist you,” she commented off-handedly.

John entered the apartment, catching a whiff of Claire’s perfume as he walked past her.  It was the light, airy one that she often wore that first year they were together, and not the heavy one that she wore later on to mask the smell of alcohol.  He hadn’t realized until that moment just how much he had missed that familiar scent.

Claire closed the door behind them, and John glanced around nervously as he stood in the middle of her living room.  It was a decent size apartment for the city, and comfortably furnished.  Antique French posters decorated one wall, while a large photo of the Eifel Tower hung on another.  He wondered if she had ever made it back to France like she had planned.

“Have a seat.”  She gestured to the couch and John sat down.  Claire anxiously wondered if she should join him or if she should sit across from him in the chair.  “Do you want something to drink?” she offered, in an attempt to buy some time to figure it out.

What John really wanted was a cigarette, or possibly five.  “No, I’m fine.  Thanks.”  But he was sure that his leg shaking up and down of its own volition, broke his illusion of cool.

Claire hastily decided to sit in the chair so that she could face John, but keep her distance.  Not that she wanted to look like she was trying to keep her distance, but she thought that it would make them both feel more at ease if they weren’t next to each other. 

It didn’t work. 

It was soon apparent that neither of them were comfortable just being in the same room together.  John fidgeted nervously, and Claire kept busy by picking the non-existent lint off the skirt of her dress while trying to make it appear like the situation didn’t affect her at all. 

They sat like that for almost five minutes.

John looked over at Claire.  He knew that she was expecting something from him, possibly something even profound, but what could he say?  ‘Sorry’ was an empty word.  It couldn’t heal a wound that deep, and it was stupid of him to think that he could try.  He shouldn’t be there.  He shouldn’t have interfered with her life just so that he could feel better about himself, and maybe—just maybe—forget for once that he had let the best thing to come into in his life slip through his fingers. 

“This was a bad idea,” he finally said, breaking the tension-filled silence.  “I just wanted to return your purse.”  He sprung up off the couch and was all set to make a hasty retreat from her living room, but at the last minute, something stopped him.  What was it that Brian had said?  That this was his one chance?

John sat back down, feeling slightly deflated.  “I didn’t think this through very well,” he admitted.

“It’s not your fault that Andy arranged an impromptu reunion between us,” she said, and then asked curiously, “Is it?”

“No,” John quickly replied.  “And apparently he ‘meant well’.”

“That doesn’t make up for the way he did it.”

“I know.  That’s why I thought that if I came over here…”

“We could do this on our own terms,” she finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Claire agreed.  “You said earlier that you wanted to try to explain.  Explain what?”

“Why I ran out on you that night.”

“I know why you left,” she replied, puzzled as to why he thought that there had been some lingering confusion surrounding his departure.  “I drove you away.  I said terrible things to you and then told you to get out.  The last thing I screamed at you was that I hated you.  I don’t blame you for leaving after that.”

John shook his head vigorously.  He couldn’t believe that she had actually thought that he had taken her words to heart.  “No.  No, I didn’t leave because of that.  Hell, I don’t even remember what you said to me after I—”  He paused, took a deep breath, and then just let it all out.  “I left because I was scared that if I stayed I’d hit you again.  I never wanted to hurt you like that.  Ever.  I just—I shouldn’t have lost it.”

He looked up at her, and Claire thought that she could see unshed tears in his eyes. 

“And you know what kept running through my mind?  That thing I told that shithead you dated in high school about how I was better than him.  Turns out that the joke was on me.”

It was Claire’s turn to shake her head.  “Don’t do that.  Don’t compare yourself to Parker.”

“Why not?  He hit you, I hit you.  That makes us practically twins in my book.”

“Except for the fact that he was violent, controlling, and manipulative.  Do you know the real reason his parents had to move back to Shermer?” she asked, remembering the scandal that hit the country club a few years ago.  “Because he sexually assaulted a girl at his boarding school.  So, don’t say that you’re the same as him.  You’re _nothing_ like him.  And I deserved that slap.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”  The truth was tumbling out now, whether Claire liked it or not.  “I’m painfully aware of how much of a bitch I was back then, especially towards you.  You were the one person that didn’t let me get away with acting like a spoiled brat and I hated that.  But instead of owning up to my problems, like I should have, I threw a tantrum.  Honestly, I would’ve slapped me too.  Only I would’ve done it harder.”

John could barely comprehend what he was hearing.  _She didn’t blame him_.  He felt like a huge weight had just been lifted off his chest.  It didn’t fix everything, but it was certainly a start.  “So, you’re not upset with me?” he asked cautiously.

“Not anymore,” she told him, realizing that she actually hadn’t been mad at him for a long time.  It was liberating to finally be able to admit it.

“Then why did you leave the church?” he asked.

“Overwhelming shock, mostly.  I needed to think.”

“At least you didn’t leave the city.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.  “Why, where did you end up?”  She had always wondered.

“Detroit.”

“That’s not very far.”

“This is the first I’ve been back, though,” he confessed.  “I kinda felt like it would be better if I stayed away.”

“So, what changed?”

He shrugged, not really understanding it himself.  “Six years makes a lot of difference.  I’m not young and stupid anymore.”

Out of habit, she joked, “Well, you’re not _young_ at least,” and then realized what she was doing.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

John gave her a half-smile.  “It’s okay.  I can take a joke at my expense, especially one that I walked right in to.”

“Oh.  Okay.” 

“Yeah, so…”  John trailed off again, feeling the awkward tension between them return.  He glanced over at the clock on Claire’s wall.  It had been almost a half-hour since he had gotten there, which was well over the two minutes that he had promised her he would take.  “Before I go—ugh, I can’t believe that I’m about to say this, but Brian said something to me about closure that made sense and—”

“Hold on—you talked to Brian?  He knew where you were too?”

“I don’t know.  Today was the first I’d talked to him since I left.”

Claire wondered just how long had he known.  “I’m going to kill him.”

John knew how she felt.  “You’ll have to get in line.  He’s on my list after Sgt. Sport.”

“Oh, god, and Allison!  I wonder how long _she_ knew?”  Claire couldn’t believe they’d hidden something like that from her, but then she supposed that it was only fair, considering how much she had kept hidden from them.

“You know, for a guy that used to wear tights on a regular basis, that Andy’s pretty sly.  I don’t think he told her until long after he had already asked me to be in the wedding.  Probably so that she had no choice but to go along with it.”

“Was she mad at me for leaving so suddenly?”

“No, but I think that she was pissed at Andy.  I heard a lot of ‘I told you so’s’ being tossed around.”

 “Great, I managed to ruin their wedding,” Claire said.

“Nah, they’ll still go through with it,” John assured her.  “Especially if you show up tomorrow and we don’t get into any arguments.”

“Is that even possible?”

 “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “But maybe we could agree to put the past aside for right now.  We can always finish talking later and get that closure that Brian wants us to have.  Then after this weekend we’ll go our separate ways again.”

“I guess I can agree to that,” Claire said. 

“Okay, good.”  John stood up with the intention of leaving, but then paused and asked, “Are you going to that dinner thing?  It’s probably gonna start soon.”

Claire nodded.  “Yeah, I should, otherwise they’ll worry about me.  Plus, I’m supposed to be giving the toast.”

“I can skip it, if you want,” he offered.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, walking him over to the door.  “You have to eat too.”

He shrugged.  “It’s fine.  I’ll just go to the diner.”

“The North Street Diner?” she asked, attention piqued.  She used to love that place, but she hadn’t had the heart to eat there without John.

He nodded.  “Yeah, I stopped in there last night.  I couldn’t believe it was still open.”

“Aw, I wonder if Betty still works there.”

“She does, but she didn’t recognize me,” John said, reliving the whole awkward encounter in his mind.  On second thought, maybe he would go to McDonald’s instead.

“Oh, that’s too bad.”  Betty had always been real good to them.

“Yeah.  So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”  He had his hand on the doorknob when—

“John, wait.”

There had been a number of lonely moments over the past six years when John would’ve given anything just to hear his name pass over Claire’s lips again.  Even in his fantasies, he had never been able to truly convince himself that he would hear it again.  But there he was, _standing_ _in her apartment_ and she’d said his name.  Just like that. 

And she had no idea how much it affected him. 

He turned back around and swallowed hard, trying to remember that it would be very wrong of him to just grab her, shove her up against the wall, and make her moan his name over and over.  Locking eyes with her didn’t help.

“You shouldn’t have to miss out on a free five-star meal on my account,” she said.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” she assured him.  She could do this—she could be friendly towards John.  They were older now, and their problems were in the past.  Maybe they could even learn to actually _be_ friends.

“Okay,” he agreed.  Although, he probably would’ve agreed to anything that she suggested at that point.

“Okay.”

They stood staring at each other again, and to his horror, John found himself asking, “Do you want to ride with me?”  He immediately regretted it, and wondered what in the world could have possibly possessed him to just blurt that out, like it was second nature to ask her—

“Sure.”  Claire flashed John a grin and she saw him relax.  “Just give me a minute.” 

“Take your time,” John replied, happy to have a few minutes by himself to calm the fuck down.  Jesus, he felt like he was seventeen again.

***

Claire freshened up her makeup in front of her bedroom mirror and smoothed down a few flyaway hairs.  Satisfied that she looked presentable, she was about to rejoin John when her gaze fell upon the small white box sitting on top of her dresser.  She instinctively picked it up and opened it.  Resting on the black velvet lining, and set in a pendant, was the mate to the diamond in John’s ear.  She had gazed at the necklace many times over the past six years, but had never been able to bring herself to wear it because the memories surrounding it were too painful.

John was wearing his earring, though, like there was no deeper meaning behind it, so maybe she could start wearing her necklace again.  She took it out of the box and fastened the clasp behind her neck.  It looked familiar.  It felt right. 

 _But wearing it is like saying you want to get back together with him_ , the voice in her head said. 

She took it off and stared longingly at it in her palm.  She had missed seeing it around her neck, maybe…

 _No!_  

She put the necklace back in the box and quickly shut the lid.

***

John was feeling much better by the time Claire emerged from her bedroom.  He couldn’t believe that he had gotten so worked up over something as innocuous as someone saying his name. 

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Claire grabbed her purse and gave him a smile that she hoped masked her tumultuous feelings.  “Yep.”

 As they waited for the elevator in the hallway, Claire found her thoughts drifting toward the wedding.  “I hope I didn’t miss much earlier.  I don’t want to screw anything up tomorrow.”

“What’s there to screw up?” he asked.  “You just walk in a straight line and then take your position on the little ‘X’ that the wedding planner helpfully taped on the floor.  Uh, also, I probably should’ve mentioned this sooner, but Allison switched me and Brian around, so you get to hang on his arm now instead of mine.”  John wondered how he could have almost forgotten such an important detail.  Probably because he’d had more important things on his mind. 

“Oh,” she replied.  For some reason that news fell flatter than it would have earlier that afternoon.

“It’s a good thing, right?” he asked as the elevator doors slid open.

“Yeah.”  She forced another smile as she got on.

John thought something was off, though.  Maybe she was still nervous that she would mess up?  “You know, if you’re worried, you could always ask Andy’s Aunt Lily for pointers.  She stood in for you after you left.  Although, I don’t think the pinch on my ass was part of it.  You may want to leave that out.”

“That sweet little old lady with the blue hair groped you?” she asked incredulously. 

“Yup,” he replied with a smug grin.  “She totally had the hots for me.”


	5. The More Things Change...

John watched Claire out of the corner of his eye as he drove.  She was silently reading over the toast she had written, and her mouth was moving ever-so-slightly along with the words.  He had to fight to keep a smile off his face, and struggle even harder not to make any obnoxious comments.  So far, the car ride had been pleasant, and John wanted to keep it that way.  Eventually, however, he had to interrupt her concentration. 

“Do you know where this restaurant is supposed to be?”  He had pulled up at an intersection to stop for a red light and wasn’t sure if he was supposed to turn or not.

“Sort of.”  She already knew her speech by heart, and it sounded like John was lost, so Claire decided to put her notes away.  “I think I ate there once with my grandparents a long time ago,” she told him off-handedly. 

 Continue going straight or turn right at the light, those were John’s choices.  He had no idea where they were, and from the sound of things, Claire wasn’t going to be the fountain of information that he had hoped she’d be.  “Out of curiosity,” he wondered, “how exactly were you going to find the place if you only ‘sort of’ know where it is?”

“Well, for one thing, I thought I was going to be driving there from the church along with everyone else,” she reminded him as she looked out the window and tried to get her bearings.  It seemed like they should be getting close.  “And when that didn’t go as planned, I was going to call Fratelli’s for directions.  But then you showed up and offered to drive me.  I assumed that meant you knew where we were going.” 

“Only vaguely,” he reluctantly admitted.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“Well, it’s not like I ever spent much time on this side of town.”

“Then how did _you_ expect to find it?” she asked.

“I thought that since this is your territory that you’d know where it was.”

“This hasn’t been ‘my territory’ in years,” she pointed out. 

“You know what I mean,” he said with a sigh of frustration, “And anyway, it’s not like it was a bad assumption.  You said that you’ve been there before.”

 “I said I _think_ I’ve been there.  Once.  When I was ten.” 

 No help at all.  “Okay, go straight it is,” he announced as the light turned green.  “Fucking blind leading the blind in here,” he added grimly under his breath.  He chanced a glance over at Claire, expecting to find a scowl on her face, but she actually seemed amused by their situation.  His mood lightened somewhat.

Claire peered down into the passenger-side door pocket.  “Don’t you have a map that we could look at?” 

“Only of Detroit,” he replied.  But before he could regret not having grabbed one from the wedding planner, he spotted a familiar sounding street sign up ahead.  “Quick, what’s the name of the road it’s on again?”

“Oak Ridge Lane,” Claire responded, noticing the same sign.  “You found it!”

John promptly turned left at the next intersection.  “Was there ever any doubt?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“On second thought?  No.”

When they finally pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot, John insisted that Claire go on inside ahead of him, a fact for which she was grateful.  He used his nicotine habit as an excuse, claiming that he wanted a smoke before dinner, but Claire wondered if he wasn’t feeling the same conflicted emotions that she was.  Arriving together made a powerful statement.  It implied things about their relationship that she wasn’t sure either of them was ready to imply—especially not to their friends.  So Claire played along, flashing John an oblivious smile and telling him not to be too long. 

The Maitre d’ ushered Claire into the private party room and she was relieved to see that the cocktail hour hadn’t quite ended yet.  Instead of making a beeline for the open bar, as she might have done in the past, Claire found a table near the front of the room that still had two open seats.  She introduced herself to the others—all members of the Clark family—as she sat down, and without thinking, placed her purse on the chair next to her, saving the spot for John. 

Moments later, she came to her senses and realized how foolish it was to automatically assume that John would sit with her.  A car ride and some friendly banter didn’t make them a couple again.  She picked her bag back up, making the space available for whatever handsome single man wanted to sit next to her instead.

Brian smiled to himself when he saw what Claire was holding in her hands.  He took the fact that she had been reunited with her purse as a sign that she’d talked with John.  He had been a little nervous when John hadn’t followed right behind them to the restaurant, but apparently there had been no cause for alarm. 

As soon as the bartender had finished mixing his drink, Brian wandered over to Claire’s table.  “I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up,” he commented, as he watched her lean over to tuck her purse under the chair by her feet.

“Neither was I,” she replied, as she straightened back up.

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Go right ahead.”  Brian wasn’t exactly the hunky guy Claire was hoping would take the seat, but it wasn’t as if she was going to turn away her best friend.  And besides, people might mistake him for her date, thus making her appear slightly less pathetic.

“I see you got your purse back,” he prompted, as he sat down, hoping that she would tell him what happened. 

Claire glared accusingly at Brian.  “Yes, it was very thoughtful of John to drop it by my place on his way here.” 

Brian had enough sense to look guilty when he heard that.  He should’ve anticipated that John would do something unpredictable.  “I didn’t think he’d actually track you down at your apartment,” he told her.  “I just thought he could return it to you here tonight and then you guys could maybe talk.”

“Uh-huh.  And tell me, exactly how long have you known that John would be here today?”

“Not long, I swear!” he quickly confessed.  The last thing he wanted was for Claire to think that he had been keeping secrets from her.  “Only since Andy picked me up at the airport.  If I had known any longer, I would’ve told you.  Really!”

“Relax, Brian.”  As much as he deserved it, Claire decided to put an end to his suffering.  “I’m pretty much over it already.”

“Does that mean that things went okay with John?”

“It means…well, it means we talked a little,” she said, “And I think we’re going to talk some more later.”

“Good,” Brian replied, finally feeling like he could let out the breath he was holding.  “That’s a start.  Just take it slow.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, deciding not to mention that John had driven her to the restaurant.  She sighed.  “I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of all this.”

“Closure?” he guessed.

“That’s what John seems to want.”  Problem was that Claire didn’t know if closure was what _she_ wanted.  It just seemed so…final.  “You must have had a pretty intense talk with him back at the church,” she said.

“We just cleared some things up, that’s all,” he told Claire, giving her the shortened version.  Luckily, she didn’t press for details.

“I hurt him,” Claire found herself suddenly confessing as she caught a glimpse of John through the crowd.

“I know.”

Claire turned to Brian in surprise.  “Did he tell you that?”

“No, but I could tell.”

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

But Brian didn’t have a chance to answer because Andy walked by and did a double take.

“Claire!” Andy exclaimed at the sight of her.  “Alli, come look who joined us,” he called to his fiancée. 

Allison came over to the table.  “I suppose you want me to forgive you now?” she asked Andy.

“Uh, yeah, that would be nice.”

 Allison grinned.  “I’ll think about it, Sporto.”

Andy threw his head back and groaned in frustration, while Brian and Claire just laughed. 

For Claire, it felt like the good old days again.  The only one missing from the scene was John. 

The announcement that the dinner service would be starting soon cut their spontaneous high school reunion short, and the room soon filled with shuffling noises as people took their seats.

“Gotta go,” Allison said, taking Andy’s arm and leading him away. 

Claire looked around the room in search of John.  She found him sitting at a table across the room, next to Kristen, the bridesmaid with whom he had been paired.  When he noticed her looking in his direction, he gave her a slight shrug as if to say ‘what can you do?’. 

There was no time to contemplate the possibilities of what she would’ve done, though, because the wedding planner was leaning down to ask her, “Are you still planning to give the toast?”

In the midst of everything, Claire had nearly forgotten about the reason she had decided to come to the dinner.  “Yes, I am,” she quickly answered, reaching for her purse so that she could grab her notes.

“Wonderful!”  Maggie switched her microphone on and addressed the guests, “Before we’re served, one of the wedding party would like to make a toast to the happy couple.  Miss Standish?”         

Claire took the microphone from Maggie and stood up.  The room filled with an encouraging round of applause.  “Thank you.  When Allison and Andy asked me to give the toast tonight, I knew immediately that I wanted to tell you all the story about how they met.  It was an unlikely meeting—they hung out with two very different crowds in high school—and anyone who knew them back then would’ve never guessed they would’ve ever had anything in common.  But it turns out that they did.  You see, nine years ago they had detention together.” 

She paused to let the laughter die down.  

“You might be wondering how I know this.  Well, I have to admit that I was in detention along with them.”  

There was more laughter. 

“At the time, I wasn’t too happy about having to spend an entire Saturday at school, but now I can tell you that I was glad to have been there.  During those nine hours, I was a witness to something amazing.”

 Claire looked out over the room and caught John watching her.  She held his gaze as she recited the next part.  “I saw two people slowly get to know each other, and I saw them both discover things about one another that they never would have noticed if they hadn’t been stuck in that room together and forced to interact.” 

A moment of clarity came to Claire while she was staring into John’s eyes and she suddenly realized that she could’ve just as easily been talking about the two of them.  The whole speech—replace Allison and Andy with Claire and John, and it could’ve been about _them_. 

Flustered, Claire had to look down at her notes for the next line.  “I think I can confidently say that Allison and Andy fell in love with one another that day, even if they didn’t realize it at the time.  Against all odds—and believe me, there were a lot of odds—they managed to hold on to that love.”  

Claire didn’t know if it was just her imagination, but she swore she could still feel John’s eyes fixed on her.  She couldn’t risk looking at him again, though, or she knew she wouldn’t be able to finish the toast without faltering. 

“It’s crazy to think that one day in detention could’ve changed their lives so much, but it did, and I watched them grow to be better people because of it.  To me, I think that was a far better outcome than just having to give up a Saturday for whatever it was that they did wrong.” 

She raised her water goblet and turned to her two smiling friends, “Here’s hoping that they can hold on to that love for the rest of their lives.”

***

As the evening wound down, Claire eventually found an opportunity to excuse herself from the table during a lull in the conversation and make her way over to the bar where John was sitting.  She had caught him looking her way a couple of times during dinner, but then Kristen would say something and he would turn his attention back to her.  He was alone now, however, and he looked bored.  She wondered why he was still hanging around if he wasn’t enjoying himself.  Kristen was still there too, maybe that had something to do with it.

Claire sat down on the stool next to him and ordered a drink from the bartender.  John didn’t acknowledge her presence at first.  For a long time, he just nursed the beer in his hand.  It seemed like he was deep in contemplation, so she let him gather his thoughts while she sipped her ginger ale.  It was three-quarters of the way gone by the time he finally spoke.

“That was a good speech.”

Claire blushed.  She had the feeling that he’d read between the lines.  “Thanks.” 

“I was just thinking…if you hadn’t been there that day, things would’ve turned out a hell of a lot differently for everyone.”  Andy would’ve probably never noticed Allison, Brian might have killed himself, and as for himself…John thought that she’d made the biggest impact on him. 

Claire had grounded him—she had given him something to hang on to at a time when he had little else except hurt and anger.  She had believed in him, and that had inspired him to want to be a better person.  And yeah, she had annoyed and frustrated him too, but no matter how bad things had gotten, he had never regretted meeting her. 

“I guess it was a good thing that I decided I needed to update my wardrobe for Spring, then,” Claire mused. 

John turned to her.  “You do realize that your obsession with fashion brought us together and then ultimately tore us apart, don’t you?”

It felt strange to be able to joke about it, but that’s what Claire found herself doing.  “Tragic, yet symmetrical,” she acknowledged with a wry grin, clinking her glass against his bottle before taking a sip.

“Cheers,” John replied, and then downed the rest of his beer.  “So, are you about ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

“Almost.  There are a few people that I should say goodbye to first,” she automatically responded, hopping down off the barstool.  It wasn’t until the familiarity of their exchange struck her, that she understood why John was still there.  “You were waiting to take me home.”

“I drove you over here, it’d be kind of a dick move not to offer to bring you back,” he explained, even though he thought that it was obvious. 

“Yeah, but—”

“What?” 

Claire really didn’t want to finish her sentence, but something told her that John wouldn’t let her get away with stopping there.  “I just thought that you might’ve been waiting for Kristen,” she mumbled.

“Who?” John asked, and then he realized that she was referring to the bridesmaid that he had sat next to.  “Oh.  Why would I be waiting for her?  She’s riding with Allison.  Her and the rest of them that all went to college together.  They’re staying back at Allison’s house tonight.” 

“Sounds like you two did a lot of talking,” Claire couldn’t help but comment.

“She did most of it, I just introduced myself.” 

“Ah.” 

John raised a curious eyebrow at Claire.  It was almost as if— “Are you jealous?” 

“No.”  Because she wasn’t, right?  “Are you jealous of Brian?”

John grinned.  If Claire thought that she was going to be able to use Brian to make him jealous she was wrong.  “Not since I found out that he was batting for the other team,” he triumphantly told her.

“Oh.”  Then Claire realized how John had worded his response.  “Wait, so you _were_ jealous.”

The smug grin disappeared from John’s face.  “That’s—look—can we go already?  I want to get back to the motel.  Urkel’ll be on soon and I don’t want to miss that.”

“Well, if I’m such an inconvenience to your TV watching schedule, I’ll just get a ride with someone else.”

John sighed dramatically as if he was making some big sacrifice.  “No, it’s alright.  It’s probably a rerun anyway.”

Claire saw right through his act and smiled.  “That’s what I thought.”

He gave her a lopsided grin in return.  “Go say your goodbyes, Princess.  I’ll get the car.”

***

The emotional evening had given them both a lot to think about, so the ride home was quiet.  Before Claire knew it, John was driving past the front of her building.  He couldn’t find a space to park out front, however, so he had to drive further down the road and pull over outside of the laundromat.

“Sorry it’s so far away,” he said.

“It’s not a big deal,” she assured him, opening the passenger door.  “These heels are pretty comfortable.”

But John wasn’t as much concerned about her footwear as he was with how dark it was outside.  “Hold on, I’ll walk with you.”

They walked unhurriedly toward the entrance of her building, prolonging their time together.  Neither, it seemed, was quite ready for the evening to be over. 

When they reached the front door, instead of grabbing for the handle, Claire turned around to ask him, “Do you want to come up?  We could talk.”

“We probably shouldn’t tonight,” he replied, even though he really wanted to.  “It’s late and…”  He leaned in and kissed Claire lightly on the cheek. 

“Why’d you do that?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Because he knew she wouldn’t.  That was what he wanted to say.  “Just ‘cuz,” he replied instead.

Claire studied his face.  There was something in his expression that she recognized—a tenderness that felt hauntingly familiar.  “You still have feelings for me, don’t you?”

Afraid that he would say the wrong thing, John didn’t answer.

Claire felt uncomfortably hot all of a sudden.  It was too much, too soon.  “You know I have zero interest in you, right?”

“Riiight,” John drawled, not believing her for a second.  “You said it earlier, you never could resist me.” 

“I mean it.  I got over you as soon as you left.”  It was a lie.  She knew it, and the way John was smiling told her that he knew it too.

It might have been a product of the two beers he’d had, but John was feeling cocky.  He had caught her and now he moved in for the kill.  “Then why are you carrying my picture around with you?”

It wasn’t until Claire’s face fell into a deep frown that he realized what he had just admitted to. 

 _Shit_.

“You went through my wallet?!”

 _Shitshitshit._  

“I had to!” he feebly exclaimed in what he knew would be a futile attempt to justify his actions.  “I didn’t know where you lived.” 

“I can’t believe you’d go through my personal things like that!” she angrily shouted.  “I guess I’d better make sure my money’s still there!”

John slammed his palm on the glass door behind her.  It rattled, and she flinched, but he didn’t care.  He might have been wrong for going into her purse, and she might have had every right to be upset with him, but that didn’t give her a free pass to say whatever she wanted about him.

“I _never_ _once_ stole from you, and you _know_ it!  It would’ve been the easiest fucking thing in the world for me to do, too, but I respected your shit!  So, don’t you even—”  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  This was not how he had wanted the evening to end.  Not when things had been going so well.  The thought that they were actually doomed to repeat the past made him want to laugh and cry all at the same time.

Finally, he just backed off and said, “I’m not going to pretend like I was some upstanding citizen, but at least hate me for the things that I actually did.” 

***

Claire tried to hold her tears back as she rode the elevator up to her apartment, but a few escaped anyway.  It had been a low blow, insinuating that he was a thief, and she knew it.  The worst part was that she had no idea why she had said it—she had just blurted it out in a moment of anger.  She was upset about the wallet, both the fact that he went through her purse, violating her privacy, and the fact that he now knew she had been carrying his picture with her for almost nine years.  She had wanted to die of embarrassment, but she had lashed out at him instead. 

_Way to knock down the fences that you were just beginning to mend, Claire._

She changed into her pajamas, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and then curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket over her.  She sat like that, in her darkened living room, for a long while, trying to work through things in her head.

The right thing—the mature thing—to do would be to apologize, and to do it soon.  She didn’t want this hanging over her head, and she absolutely didn’t want to risk arguing with John at the wedding tomorrow.  It would be better to just get it done and over with.

Claire picked up her phone and dialed the only phone number she could.  She didn’t know where John was staying, but she knew who did.  She just hoped that he wouldn’t have any questions because she really didn’t feel like explaining.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Claire.”

“Hey!” Andy excitedly greeted her.  “I’m glad you called.”

“Even though I’m interrupting your last night as a single man?” she asked skeptically.

Andy set his pool cue down.  “The only thing you’re interrupting is the game of pool I’m playing against my self.”

“Allison and her friends banished you to the basement, didn’t they?”

“They claimed it’s because of some superstition, but I think they just wanted to get rid of me.  I even have to sleep on the old futon tonight.  In my own house!”  Andy knew he should’ve spent the night at his parent’s, even though it would’ve been crowded with all of his brothers and their families there.

“All that torment they put you through will be worth it tomorrow when you’re a married man,” she told him.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”  Andy paused and took a deep breath.  “Listen, I want to apologize.  I know I screwed up this afternoon by trying to force you and John together.  It was stupid and I promise not to do it again.  Your relationship with him is none of my business.  From now on, I’m going to stay completely out of it.  So, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”  Although Andy wasn’t exactly making what she had to ask any easier.

“Good.  So, uh, what’s up with the phone call?” he wondered.

“Do you by any chance have the phone number of where John’s staying?”

Andy was expecting pretty much any response but _that_.  “Yep, I do.”

Claire could practically hear him grinning over the phone.  “Don’t get excited,” she warned him.

“I’m not, I’m not.  Just let me—oh crap, it’s in the kitchen.  I’m going to have to run upstairs and risk life and limb for this.  Give me a sec.”

***

John was leaned back against the headboard, with his arms tucked under his head, watching TV from the bed in his motel room, when the phone rang and startled him.  He rolled over onto his side so that he could reach the phone on his nightstand, and picked up the receiver.  “Hello?”

“John?”

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice.  “Yeah?” he practically choked out.

“I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t say anything, but he did put the television on mute so that he could hear her out.

Claire took John’s silence as a signal to keep talking.  “I shouldn’t have accused you like that.  I was tired, and I guess I wasn’t thinking.  I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

“I guess not much has changed,” he finally said.

Claire winced.  She knew John was right.  All they’d done that day was go around in a circle.  The two of them, happily ever after—it was impossible.  She longed to be with him again, but on some level, she knew that she couldn’t do that to herself, not if the outcome was just going to be the same as it was before.  She hugged her knees to her chest and for the second time that night, her eyes filled with tears. 

“Why do we always end up here?”

“I don’t know,” John conceded, “I really don’t.”  He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.  He could hear her crying and he wished that he had a better answer for her. 

Neither one of them said anything for a very long time.

Finally, Claire offered him the only thing that she could.  “I don’t hate you.”

“I’m sorry I went through your stuff.”  

“I’m not mad anymore.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”  Her voice was quiet, but hopeful.

“Yeah, you will,” he softly assured her.  “Goodnight, Claire.”


	6. Killing Time, Part 1

The sun flooded into the motel room through the gaps between the blinds, signaling that it was time to get up, but John stubbornly ignored it.  He closed his eyes again, and was immediately assaulted with memories from the previous night.  He had no idea what had made him think that kissing Claire was a good idea.  He had pushed things too far, that much was clear.  He had corned her until she had felt like she had to attack.  He was officially a moron.

Still…Claire calling to apologize was a good sign.  Maybe it even meant that she had changed.  The old Claire hated taking responsibility for their fights.

John’s stomach growled, as if ordering him to get out of bed.  He glanced over at the clock on his nightstand, and tried to decide if he wanted to comply.  It was still early.  Getting breakfast would probably take him an hour, tops, but after that, he didn’t know what he was going to do.  The wedding wasn’t until 4pm, so that left him with a hell of a lot of time to kill.

 

***

 

 “Can I come up there yet?” Andy yelled through the basement door.  “I’m starving!”

“No!” Sophie, the maid of honor shrieked back.  “We told you, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding!”

After sulking back down the stairs, Andy resumed his game of darts.  He wasn’t doing well.  Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long for the upstairs to clear out.  Less than five minutes later, he heard someone shout, “The limo’s here!”  Hurried footsteps on the floor above soon followed, and then there was even more shouting.  Eventually, however, he heard the front door slam and the house became blissfully quiet.

Andy cautiously made his way up from the basement and poked his head out the door.  When he saw the empty kitchen, he smiled.  He was a single man for a few more hours and he was going to make the most of it. 

 

***

           

As John tugged a black t-shirt on over his head, he heard the telephone on the nightstand ring.  He froze with one arm halfway through the sleeve and his face still covered.  Only two people had his number, and he wasn’t sure that it would be a good idea to try to talk to Claire while he was still half-asleep.  The phone rang again.  He finished pulling his shirt on and then tried to decide if he really wanted to answer it. 

 Another insistent ring finally coaxed him into picking up the phone.  He answered it apprehensively.  “Hello?”

 “Hey, man,” Andy’s voice greeted him. 

John let out a sigh of relief.  “What’s up?  I mean, besides me.”

Andy made a noise of disgust that made John grin.  “That’s real nice, Bender, thanks.  That’s exactly the image I want in my head this morning.” 

“You’re welcome,” John replied.  “And I only meant ‘up’ in an ‘I’m awake and out of bed’ sense.  You’re the one that made it dirty,” he pointed out, as he slipped his corduroy jacket on. 

“Remind me again why I asked you to be in the wedding?”

“Hell if I know.”  Keys…where did he leave his leys last night?  John checked his jacket pockets but came up empty.  “Does this phone call have a point?” he asked.  “I was on my way out to breakfast when you interrupted me.” 

“Yeah, I was wondering if you felt like coming over later.  I’ve got the house to myself and I was kind of hoping that you guys would want to hang out and play some pool or something.”

And just like that, John’s day started to look up.  “ _Welllll_ , I _was_ going to knock over a couple of banks, and maybe set fire to the high school, _buuut_ I suppose I could hang with you afterwards.”

It was a testament to just how distracted Andy was by the wedding that he didn’t even react to John’s teasing.  “Good.  Just make sure you bring all your stuff with you when you come.  The limo’s going to pick us up from here around 3, and then it’ll stop to get my family before driving us over to the church.  We’re not supposed to get dressed until we’re there.  Something about wrinkles.”  Andy paused.  “You _do_ have your tux, right?”

“Yeah, Sporto, can you believe it?  I managed to rent one with out your help,” John told him as he searched the pockets of the jeans that he had worn the day before for his keys.

“Probably because you only had one to choose from.  I guess a better question is, are you going to wear it?  And by _it_ , I mean the _whole_ tuxedo.  Shirt, tie, jacket, everything?”

 “Yeah, yeah.”  John rolled his eyes as he fished the car keys out of his jeans pocket.  It was if Andy didn’t trust him or something.  “I swore on pain of death, didn’t I?”

Andy chuckled.  “Just making sure that you didn’t forget.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That makes one of us,” John said, tossing his keys up into the air and then catching them again.

“Can you do me a favor and pick Brian up on your way over?  He’s going over to his parent’s house for breakfast this morning at his mom’s insistence, but he said that he wanted to try and make the visit as short as possible.  I told him that someone would be there at 11 to bail him out.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

 

***

Claire stood outside her building with her dress draped over one arm and present tucked under the other, waiting anxiously for the limo to pick her up.  The waiting was starting to get to her for two reasons.  One, her arms were tired of holding her things, but more importantly, standing outside was giving her unwanted time to think about the previous evening.  It also hadn’t escaped her notice that she was only mere feet from where John had kissed her.  Nor did it help that every time she closed her eyes she could feel his lips on her cheek. 

She would have to face him later that day, Claire knew that, but what she didn’t know was how she should act around him.  Maybe they could just ignore everything that had happened after John had dropped her off, and pretend that the kiss had never happened.  Or, she supposed if she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to talk to him at all, and he would just go back to Detroit.  Either way, it was going to make for an awkward day.

 

***

           

Brian let out a sigh of frustration at his mom’s stubbornness.  “I don’t understand why I just can’t borrow dad’s car.”

“Because I hardly ever get to see you,” Mrs. Johnson replied, “That’s why.  I want to spend some time with my only son.”

“But it’ll be boring,” Brian argued.  “And I probably won’t even be gone that long.  In and out, that’s the plan.” 

He could see that his mother wasn’t going to be backing down anytime soon, however.  “What are you going to get them?” she inquired.

“Something off the registry,” he mumbled, and knew that he had lost the battle.

“But you don’t know what, and that’s why you need me to come along.”

“No, I really—” 

“It won’t be any trouble at all.  Now, give me a few minutes to fix my hair and we’ll get going.” 

Brian sighed again.  It was going to be a long morning.

 

***

 

John had every intention of going straight back to his motel room after breakfast, but he ended up taking a slight detour, and found himself standing over a grave instead.  He hadn’t been to the cemetery in twenty years.  He had remembered though, that his brother was buried in the back corner, near the wrought-iron fence.  He remembered _that_ , but standing there, looking at the headstone, he wasn’t sure that he remembered what his brother looked like.

Someone had taken down all of his pictures after they had come home from the funeral—probably his father.  What had happened to them after that, John didn’t know, although he thought he had seen his mom crying over a picture frame in her bedroom once.

 “I’m sorry,” John apologized out loud—because he _was_ sorry.  He had long ago come to terms with the fact that David’s death hadn’t been his fault, but John was suddenly overwhelmed with the regret that he had never gotten to know his brother.  Something important had been missing from his life, and John hadn’t fully understood what it was until that moment. 

He dropped down to one knee and traced the dates on the headstone.  David would’ve turned twenty-three this year.  If he was still alive, the whole family would probably get together to celebrate his birthday, just like he was sure that they would all get together to celebrate the holidays too.  And maybe then, John wouldn’t feel as alone as he did.  He wiped away a tear with the cuff of his jacket as he stood back up.  _Fuck._

He needed to get out of there.

While walking back to the car, John concluded that there was one more place he needed to visit that morning.  He had left home when he was eighteen and hadn’t returned since.  But somehow, it felt like it was finally time.  He was ready to face the last of his demons. 

He wanted to prove to his father that he wasn’t a worthless bum, and he needed to see his mom, even if she didn’t know who he was.  John had to see for himself that she was okay.  He knew from Pete’s sporadic updates that his parents were both still alive, and that they were still living in the same house.  What could it hurt to stop by?

As John drove through old the neighborhood, he started to seriously reconsider what he was about to do.  Going home was a bad idea.  There was a reason why he hadn’t done it before.  He was _not_ going to stop.  It wasn’t going to happen.  No way in hell.  He was just going to keep driving. 

Ten minutes later, he had circled around, and was back on the same street again.  As he approached his childhood home for the second time, John forced himself to slow down and actually look at it.  There was a car in the driveway.  Somebody was home.

_Damn it._

He parked on the street out front and took his seatbelt off, but sat in the car for a few minutes longer, trying to psych himself up.  He was going to do it.  He was going to walk up there, ring the doorbell, and tell his father how fucking awesome his life was, adding a little embellishment as needed.  He was going to show him that he was successful, and happy, and—well, he wasn’t happy, but his father didn’t need to know that.  But, oh man, he’d really throw how great Detroit was in his old man’s face, and make sure that he knew that he didn’t miss Shermer at all, and that he was lucky that John was even gracing his fucking doorstep with his presence.  And he wasn’t going to take any crap from his father, either.  He was twenty-six years old, not some fucking scared little kid. 

Yeah, that’s exactly how it was going to be.  He could totally do it.  Fucking easy.

John climbed out of the car and walked the short distance up to the front door.  He ignored the voice in his head that was wondering why he was willingly and voluntarily there.  He rang the doorbell, and as he waited, he tugged nervously at the sleeves of his corduroy jacket, trying to pull them impossibly further down his arms because they felt strangely naked.

The door swung open, and after eight and a half years, John found himself standing face to face with his father again.  All the words that he was planning to say suddenly vanished off his tongue.


	7. Killing Time, Part 2

Seconds passed—possibly even minutes—while the two Bender men stood waiting for the other to make the first move.

“It’s been a while,” the older Bender finally said, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah,” was all John could think of to say in response.

“You here looking for a handout?” his father wondered, eyeing him warily.

As if John would come to him if he was.  “No, sir.”

“Who’s at the door?”  John heard his mom call from the other room. 

“Johnny came back for a visit,” his father yelled back, and opened the door wider, inviting John in.  

His mom came rushing out of the kitchen as he entered the house. 

“Hi, Ma,” he said quietly, keeping a guarded expression.  He was unsure of what kind of reaction to expect.  His mom had a confused look on her face and John’s heart sank when he didn’t think that she remembered him.  She hadn’t exactly been in her right mind when he had left.  But confusion quickly turned to recognition, which then turned to joy. 

“Johnny!”  She threw her arms around him, and John found himself hugging her back.  It was probably the first time since he was young that she had showed that much affection toward him.  “Look at you!” she exclaimed, admiring his long hair and brushing it out of his eyes to get a better look at him.  “Jack, look at him!”

His father wasn’t impressed, however.  “He still needs a goddamn haircut.”

His mom laughed.  “But he looks so handsome!  C’mon in.  I was just finishing up the dishes.  I could stop and fix you something to eat, though, if you’re hungry,” she eagerly offered.

 “No, I just had breakfast.  You finish what you need to do,” he said, following his mom toward the kitchen.  His father, predictably, didn’t join them.

John stood in the doorway to the kitchen and watched his mom scrub a skillet.  He was glad that he had picked a day to visit that she wasn’t passed out on the couch. 

“So, are you staying?  Your room is empty, like you left it, but we could make up the couch for the night,” she offered.

“Oh, no, I, uh…I’m in town for a friend’s wedding, so I’ve already got a place to stay.  But thanks.”  He wandered over to her side and picked up a dishtowel.  Out of habit, or maybe out of nervousness, he started to dry the dishes in the dish rack.

“I see.  So, are you doing okay, then?  You look well-fed.”

“Yeah, I do okay for myself.”  He went to return the juice glass that he had just dried to the cupboard, but hesitated.  “In here?” he asked, pointing to where the glasses used to be kept. 

She nodded.  “And are you still playing your guitar?” 

John set the glass on the shelf and flashed back to the night, nine years ago, that he had broken a glass in his father’s presence.  He remembered the panic that he had felt when the wound on his arm hadn’t stopped bleeding, and then later, how much the itchy scab had driven him crazy.  He wondered if maybe he would have had a less prominent scar if he hadn’t picked at it so much while it had been healing. 

“Or have you given it up?” She asked. 

John’s focus turned back to the conversation in the kitchen.  “No, I still play almost every day,” he replied, and grabbed a plate from the rack.

“That’s good.  And do you have a girlfriend?”

It was lucky that John had a good grip on the plate because he almost dropped it when he heard the question.  “Not exactly,” he replied. 

“But there is a girl?” 

There was a good chance that the handful of TV shows John had watched the previous night had melded together in order to form one really fucking weird dream—which he was still having.  The Twilight Zone mixing with the feel-good sitcoms of ABC’s TGIF lineup, for example, would explain why he had gone home, and why he was discussing his love life with his mom.  In fact, the more John thought about it, the more he was sure that he had to be still asleep.  All that was missing was a laugh track, and maybe some freshly baked cookies.  

“There is, isn’t there?” she pried.

He thought about how to answer his mom.  Hell yes there was a girl?  There had always been a girl?  For the past nine years, there had really only ever been one girl?  Except now that he’s seen her again, he doesn’t know where he stands with her?  No, he probably couldn’t say any of that.  It would be so much easier if he had a script.  _Wake up, John.  Wake up._   

“Um…” 

“That sounds like a yes.” 

“Just someone that I know who’s also in the wedding,” he finally answered, after deciding that he was awake after all.  The fact that it wasn’t actually a dream made the whole scene in the Bender household even more bizarre in his eyes. 

“Oh?  An ex, or an old crush?” 

 _Jesus!_ His mom was fucking relentless!  And the sad thing was that John only had himself to blame for getting into the painfully awkward conversation in the first place.  He could have gone back to the motel, but no, he had to come _here_. 

“She’s, uh, she’s the girl I went to the prom with back in high school,” he mumbled, hoping his mom didn’t notice that he hadn’t actually answered her question. 

His mom paused for a moment and then smiled.  “I remember that.  It was the first time that I had seen you dressed up since you were little.  You never brought her over, did you?” she asked, putting the last item in the dish rack.  

“No.”  And he had moved out soon after. 

“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t have wanted to back then.” 

He didn’t know what to say to that. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to.  His mom dried her hands and turned to him.  “I’ll put the rest away later.” 

“You sure?”

“You’re a guest,” she explained, taking the dishtowel from his hands and hanging it up again. 

A guest.  Yeah, that was how he felt.  He was a stranger, despite the familiar surroundings.  Whoever had said that you couldn’t go home again was probably on to something. 

“I really can’t get you anything?  Not even a glass of water?” she tried again.  

There was one thing he wanted, but…  What the hell, it was worth a shot.  “Could I, um—I was wondering if you had any pictures of me when I was younger.  And, you know…of David.”  He said the last part almost under his breath and if it weren’t for the expression faltering on his mother’s face, he would have thought that she hadn’t heard him.  He immediately regretted asking. 

But his mother recovered quickly.  “Let me go see what I can find,” she said, and left the kitchen.  

John had just begun to relax when his father entered the kitchen.  He tossed his newspaper onto the table and limped over to the fridge.  That was new.  John was sure that his father hadn’t had a limp when he had left.  It made him think about all of the possibilities—an accident, arthritis, a stroke, an old war wound—but as curious as he was, John wasn’t stupid enough to actually inquire which it had been.

“You want a beer?” his father asked as he was getting himself one.

At nine-thirty in the morning?  “Nah, I think I’ll pass.”

His father pointed to the kitchen table.  “Sit.”

John sat.

The older man lit a cigarette and then passed the pack over to John, who gratefully took one.  There was a tense silence as smoke gradually filled the kitchen.  John waited on edge for his father to make his next move.

 “You got a job?” he finally asked, looking at John with a critical eye.

“Yeah, I’m a carpenter.  I build a lot of cabinets and stuff.” 

“Decent line of work,” he commented gruffly as he nodded in approval.

John replied with a shrug and an, “It’s alright,” rather than the, “Damn fucking straight it is!” he had once planned.  The conversation wasn’t going at all how John had envisioned it would in the car.

“Your mother missed you,” his father casually mentioned, exhaling a trail of smoke as he spoke.

But John wondered if she had been sober enough to even know that he was gone most days.

His father seemed to read his thoughts.  “Had to hospitalize her a few years back,” he told him, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette.  “She took a whole damn bottle of pills and almost died.”

John stared down at the table, feeling suitably ashamed.  Pete hadn’t mentioned anything about a hospitalization, although John supposed that he should have seen it coming.  Things had certainly been heading in that direction when he had moved out.  It had been selfish, but at the time, all he’d desperately wanted to do was get away from it all.  He had hated being the one that had to check to see if his mom was still breathing.  It had never occurred to him to think about who would do it when he left.

He looked up at his father again, and saw something in his expression that he didn’t ever remember seeing before.  Weariness.  Maybe John hadn’t been the only one who had looked after her.

“She’s better now?” he asked optimistically.  She certainly seemed better.

“As long as she gets her head shrunk twice a month.”

“Good.”

John was genuinely thankful that his mom was doing well, but at the same time, it bothered him in ways that it shouldn’t have.  It was one thing for Shermer to have changed without him, but he hadn’t expected his family to change.  For eight and a half years, he’d held on to the notion that his parents had stayed exactly as he had left them.  As if they were stuck in some kind of holding pattern.  The one victory that John had allowed himself over the years was that he had escaped from that trap.

 _At least I’m not at home anymore_ , he used to think, repeating it like a mantra when times were tough.  He may not have been completely happy or content, but at least he was better off than _his_ _parents_.  Now, he didn’t even have that.  John had come back, all set to brag about how much he hadn’t needed his family, but like a punch to the gut, it suddenly hit him that he’d had it backwards the whole time. 

His parents were the ones who hadn’t needed _him_. 

His father stood up and took his beer and newspaper with him.  John thought he looked uncomfortable with all the talking, and to be honest, John felt the same way.  “Don’t do anything to fuck _this_ —” His father made a sweeping gesture around the kitchen with his beer bottle.  “—up.”

Yeah, John was beginning to realize that that was a distinct possibility.  His parents had definitely been better off without him.

His mom returned to the kitchen, just as John was finishing his cigarette and preparing to make a hasty exit.  She was carrying a photo album, which she placed on the table in front of him.  “I think this one has the picture you want,” she said, flipping through the pages. 

John watched as snapshots of his childhood appeared and disappeared in front of him.  His mom stopped on a candid portrait of the four of them in their backyard.  John was probably a little over five years old in the picture.  And there was David, sitting on his mom’s lap, smiling.  It was good to see his brother’s face again. 

He looked up, and saw that his mom had tears forming in her eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have—I’ll go.”  He was undoing everything, he just knew it.  He pushed away from the table and got up.  His mom stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“I know this may be a hard idea to get used to,” she said slowly, “But you don’t have to stay away anymore because of me.”

The look on her face nearly broke him.  “I didn’t leave because of you,” John said quietly.  It was half true.  He had left because of _both_ of them.

His mom’s gaze flicked briefly over to the living room and John thought that maybe she understood.

Uncomfortable again, he glanced over at the microwave clock.  “I really do need to go, though.  I’ve got that wedding today.”  And he had to go back to the motel and get his things before picking up Brian.  If he was late, he would never hear the end of it.

His mom pried the photo out of the album and handed it to him.  “You should have this.”

“You sure?”

She nodded.

“Thanks.”  He carefully tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“You’re welcome to come over for Thanksgiving dinner, or for Christmas this year,” she told him as he was walking towards the front door.

“I’ll let you know,” he noncommittally replied.

She didn’t look like she quite believed him.

“But, uh, even if I can’t…I’ll try to come back and visit again sometime,” he felt compelled to add.

She smiled and hugged him goodbye, kissing him on the cheek before letting him go.  His father, who had come over to see him off, held out his hand.  John took it and the two men acknowledged each other with a nod.  He left the house feeling a hundred times lighter than he had when he had arrived.

John managed to make it halfway back to the motel before the enormity of what had happened that morning caught up with him, and he had to pull over.  He opened the car door and emptied his breakfast onto the paved shoulder. 

When he recovered, John wiped his mouth on one of the spare napkins that he kept in the glove compartment, and took a couple of deep, albeit ragged, breaths.  He didn’t know what was wrong with him.  He had suffered through far worse and never felt that way.  Besides, nothing bad had even happened to him that morning.

With trembling fingers, he extracted the family photo from his pocket.  He couldn’t do much more than glance at it though.  Not if he wanted to make it back to the motel sometime that morning.  He put the picture away, safely stowing it in the glove compartment. 

It was another ten minutes before he felt like he could drive again.

 

***

 

Brian was glad, and more than a little surprised when he heard John pull into his parent’s driveway almost five minutes early.  He had figured that if anything, John would be _late_.  He wasn’t going to complain though.  He waved at the door to let John know that he had seen him and then went to get his things. 

 “Is your ride here already?”  His mom had entered the room at the sound of the car horn.  She was carrying the present that she had insisted on wrapping herself.  For some reason she didn’t trust the gift-wrap service at the department store.

“Yup!” Brian replied, not being able to hide his enthusiasm. 

He grabbed his tux from the front hall closet and took the package from his mom, thanking her for her hard work.  “See you later!” he called, as he rushed out the front door.  In the future, he would make sure to always rent a car when he came back to visit. 

Brian opened the rear passenger door and greeted John.  “How was your morning?”

“Fucking surreal,” John answered grimly. 

Brian glanced toward the front seat when he heard John’s response.  John looked a little pale, Brian thought, and he wondered if something had happened.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—I’ll be fine.”

An honest answer was not the reply that Brian had been expecting, and it caught him completely off-guard.  Anytime John answered anyone without sarcasm, Brian knew it was serious.  He didn’t push for an explanation though, and instead, he tried to keep things light. 

“Well, my morning was barely tolerable,” he said, as he put his stuff in back seat along with John’s tux—the only other item he could see.  “I had to go shopping with my mom—John, where’s _your_ present?  Please tell me you got them a present.”

John turned and looked at the fancily wrapped package on the seat with a furrowed brow, as if no one had informed him that the giving of presents was required.  “Isn’t me coming back to Shermer and agreeing to be in the wedding enough of a present?” he asked.

Brian pretended to think that over for a moment.  “No,” he finally concluded.

“Then can I put my name on the card next to yours?” John asked hopefully.

“Are you going to reimburse me for half also?”

“No.”

“Then too bad.”

John frowned.  “I liked you better when you did whatever I said.”

 

***

 

“So, I heard Claire called you last night.”  Andy couldn’t resist commenting, as he dealt the cards around the table.  He may have promised Claire that he would stay out of their business, but he hadn’t promised John.

John in return glared at Andy, causing Brian to look at John curiously, and Adam, the best man, to look lost.

“C’mon, you two talked, right?” Andy pressed.

John shook his head vigorously.  “No,” he said resolutely.

“No?” Andy repeated in confusion.  “But she—”

“ _No_ , I’m not having this conversation with you,” John clarified.  “ _Any_ of you,” he added, turning to Brian, who he just knew was going to say something.  “And especially not you,” he told a bewildered Adam.  “I don’t even know you, man, no offense.”

Adam shrugged.  “None taken.”

Brian quickly changed the subject before a fight broke out.  “So, what do you think the girls are up to this morning?”

“Drinking mimosas, soaking their feet, and generally getting pampered,” Andy answered.

“How come they get to do all that, but we’re stuck hanging out in your basement?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, Andy, why couldn’t you spring for us guys to go to a spa too?” Brian teased.

“Because I figured no amount of exfoliating would improve your ugly faces,” Andy answered with a grin.

John shook his head and sighed as he told the others knowingly, “He just hates us because we’re beautiful.”

 

***

 

“Can I ask you something?”

Claire looked over to Kristen who was sitting in the chair next to hers at the salon.  They were both currently waiting for their toenails to dry.  “Sure,” Claire replied, resting the magazine she had been reading on her lap.

“Do you know why Brian didn’t want to be paired with me anymore?  Allison was kind of vague on why we had to switch at the last minute.  Did she tell you anything?”  

Kristen genuinely looked worried, as if she was afraid that she had done something wrong or had offended Brian somehow, and Claire felt as though she needed to reassure her.  “Brian’s kind of shy around strangers,” she told her.  That sounded plausible, right?  “I guess Allison figured that since we were already friends, she would put us together.” 

“Oh.”  Claire could see that Kristen was still thinking something over, however.  “But, then why did she put you with John, if you’re friends with Brian?” she asked a minute later. 

Claire could tell her the truth, but she didn’t want to make Kristen feel like she would be getting in the way of something that was probably not going to happen anyway.  So, she settled for not quite lying, and hoped that it would be enough of an explanation this time.  “Because John and I are friends, too.  We all went to high school together—me, Brian, John, Andy, and Allison.” 

Kristen smiled excitedly.  “If you know him, then you have to tell me all about him!  What he likes—everything!”

“I don’t know if I’m the best person for that,” Claire replied.  “I haven’t seen him in a long time.  I’m not sure I know what he likes anymore.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kristen said, “Any little bit of info helps.  He was kind of hard to read last night.”

“Yeah,” Claire agreed, “He usually is.”

“So, what does he do for fun?  Does he have any hobbies?”

“Uh, well…he’s always been really into music,” Claire told her.  “He used to play guitar in a band.  I’m not sure what he’s doing these days, though.”

“Awesome!  I play guitar too!  Maybe he’d want to get together sometime and jam.”

Claire smiled politely, as she tried desperately to remember that she didn’t have any claim on John anymore.  “Maybe.”  

“Ooh,” Kristen squealed, “I just love long-haired musicians!  Don’t you?”  

Claire did, and that was exactly what was causing her so many problems.


	8. Going to the Chapel

Brian and the other groomsmen laughed as they watched the spectacle being played out in the dressing room.  John, it seemed, was trying his hardest to make Andy regret inviting him back to Shermer, by refusing to listen to anything Andy told him to do.  Brian wanted to feel bad for Andy, especially since he was getting so red in the face with frustration, but the whole scene was too entertaining to feel much sympathy.  

“Bender!  I swear to god, if you don’t finish getting dressed, I am going to hold you down and do it myself!” Andy shouted.

“Ooh, kinky!” John shouted back, and darted across the room, putting a table in between him and his pursuer.  Andy lunged for him, but his fingers only just grazed the sleeve of John’s jacket.  There were triumphant hollers, and a round of applause from Andy’s three brothers, who had apparently decided that cheering for John was more fun than helping their youngest sibling.

“Traitors,” Andy muttered.

“C’mon, you can get him!” Adam yelled encouragingly.  “Just pretend he’s a criminal!”

“He _is_ a criminal!” Andy protested.

John smirked at Andy.  “Yeah, it’s criminal how awesome I am!”

“That’s it!  Adam, go out there and see if any of the guys brought their tasers!”

At that moment, however, the door opened and Mrs. Clark came in to check on them.  “You might want to think about settling down,” she said.  “I could hear you shouting all the way down the hall.”

John took the momentary distraction that Mrs. Clark provided as an opportunity to slip out the door.  Andy tried to follow, but he didn’t get far.

“Andrew!” Mrs. Clark exclaimed, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Andy froze at the doorway and wicked grin appeared on John’s face as he took a huge step back and put himself out of Andy’s reach.  “See you at the altar, lover boy.”

Andy threw Brian a desperate look.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Brian assured him.  He picked up his wedding gift and exited out into the hall.  John was already conveniently on his way back to the dressing room when Brian bumped into him.  Now, all Brian had to do was convince him to behave for another couple of hours.

“John—”

“Let me take that for you and put it on the table with the rest of them,” John interrupted, grabbing for the present in Brian’s hands.

But Brian held tightly onto the gift.  “No, I can do it myself, thanks,” he answered, giving John a wary look.  Something was definitely up, he could feel it.

“Seriously,” John tried again, “Let me do it.”

“No,” Brian repeated.  He had a feeling that if he handed over the present, the card would mysteriously get lost and John’s name would end up on it instead.

“C’mon,” John pleaded, “You owe me.”

Brian raised an eyebrow.  “I thought _you_ owed _me_?” 

“Just—”  John let out an impatient sigh of frustration, like he was making a big sacrifice to ask him this one thing.  “All I want to do is carry it over to the table,” he explained slowly.  “You can fucking supervise if you want.”

Brian glanced around John and saw Claire standing on the far side of the room.  Suddenly, it all became clear.  “Alright, fine,” he relented, handing over the box, “But I’m going to be watching you.”

 

***

 

Claire had offered to help monitor the gift table while the guests were arriving.  It gave her something to do and kept her mind off John, who—to her horror—was heading her way with a large gift-wrapped box.  It was too late to run; he had already seen her.  She nervously greeted him.  “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied, just as nervously.  He handed her Brian’s present, and she put it with the others.

“So…”  Claire wanted to ask John if things were okay between them again, but chickened out.  “What did you get them?” she asked instead.

John held up his finger and said, “Hang on a sec.”  Then he turned around and shouted behind him, “Hey, Brian, Claire wants to know what we got them!”

Brian glared at him in response, and walked away shaking his head.

“He didn’t know that he was supposed to get them a present,” John told her.  “So I let him put his name on the card.”

“Uh-huh,” she said slowly, not buying a word of it, “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that Andy and Allison are such good friends with him that they won’t care that he forgot to buy them a present.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Don’t worry.  They’ll just be glad that he showed up and didn’t cause any trouble for them.”  She paused for a moment, rethinking her statement.  “He’s _not_ going to cause any trouble is he?”

“Who, Brian ‘The Trouble-maker’ Johnson?  It’s a definite possibility.  I could tell you stories that—”

“ _John_.” 

The way she said his name, made it sound like she was issuing him a stern warning, but her eyes told him that she was clearly amused.  “Yes?”

“Where’s your tie?”

Oh.  _That_.  So much for keeping things trouble free.  Like a child who had been caught in the act of misbehaving, John reluctantly produced a crumpled bowtie from his back pocket.  The amusement on Claire’s face turned into something akin to horror. 

“Oh my god _._ ”  She snatched the bowtie away from him and tried to smooth it out as best she could. 

He didn’t understand what the big deal was.  _He_ wasn’t the one getting married.  “What?  I don’t like ties.”  Ties were for funerals.  He couldn’t even remember the last time that he had worn a tie.  No, scratch that, he could, and it had all been Andy’s fault then too.  “I was hoping that no one would notice until it was too late.”

“I guess that plan didn’t work out so well,” she mused, inspecting the now slightly less wrinkled tie in her hands.  It would have to do.

“Tell me about it,” John agreed.  “Andy chased me around the room in there so that he could pin me down and strangle me with it.  Why do you think I’m out here?”

Claire shook her head in disapproval, but didn’t even try to hide the smile that formed at the mental image of John’s antics.  She reached up and buttoned the top button of his shirt, and then flipped up his collar.  “Well, if you behave and wear your tie for the ceremony, I won’t tell him that you’re still wearing your Doc Martins,” she said, slipping the tie around his neck.   

“You noticed those too, huh?”

She nodded and used the ends of his tie to pull him in closer to her.  “You just can’t help but be a rebel, can you?”

“Nope.  I’m bad to the bone,” he quipped, flashing her his trademark smirk.  “That a problem, Princess?”

She paused and looked up at him with a serious expression.  “Honestly?”

He nodded, even though he was scared she was going to say yes.

A smile slowly spread across Claire’s face.  “I heard that being bad feels pretty good.”

John had to suppress a groan.  Oh, it felt good all right.  It felt _really_ good having Claire pressed up against him, for instance—something that never would have happened if he had just put on his tie like a good boy.  “Who ever told you that must have been a fucking genius.”

“He had his moments,” Claire replied wistfully, tweaking the ends of his tie to make sure it was just right.

“Yeah?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

When Claire finally seemed satisfied with the knot in his tie, her arms dropped to his waist to play with the buttons on his jacket.  John got the feeling that she was reluctant to step back from the closeness, and he certainly wasn’t about to complain.  He was going to enjoy it.  He lightly traced his finger down the length of the delicate white gold chain Claire was wearing—all the way down to the _diamond_ pendant. 

John couldn’t believe he that hadn’t noticed the significance of her necklace sooner.  He sought Claire’s eyes for an explanation. 

She nodded shyly.

A kind of understanding passed between them at that moment, and John realized something very important— _Claire had never gotten over him_. 

For some reason, the possibilities stemming from that epiphany didn’t scare him as much as they probably should have.  John wasn’t sure that he would be able to speak, but he felt like he should say something.  “You look gorgeous,” was what came out in a throaty whisper.

“Thank you,” she replied, just as breathlessly.  If she just leaned in a little closer, her lips could be touching his. 

“There you are, John!”

Claire and John quickly pushed apart at the sound of Kristen coming up alongside them. 

“Maggie’s going around telling everyone to start lining up,” she informed the pair.  Then she took an admiring look at John.  “Wow, you sure clean up nicely there, handsome.” 

“I was just helping John with his tie,” Claire told her, feeling the need to explain what she was doing with the other bridesmaid’s escort.  “He has a thing against formal wear.”

“Ties of the world are out to get me,” John said in his defense.

Claire laughed at his statement and then asked playfully, “Are you sure it’s the ties?”

“It’s either the ties, or one very persistent wrestling champ,” he conceded.

“Because he’s the only one that forces you dress up?” Claire guessed.

“Exactly.”

Not understanding the joke, Kristen reached out and adjusted John’s tie.  “There you go, much better.”

It took all of Claire’s willpower not to strangle her fellow bridesmaid.

“I’m going to steal him away now, if you don’t mind,” Kristen cheerfully told Claire as she hooked her herself onto John’s arm, oblivious to the tension that she had just hacked her way through.

Claire plastered on a fake smile.  “Go right ahead.”  Kristen was a nice girl, and if she and John got along, then Claire would try to be happy for them.  But it turned out to be easier said than done as she watched John being led away.

Brian found her after they had left.  “How’s it going?”

“I don’t like seeing him with another woman,” she answered bluntly.

Amused, he asked, “Would you rather we switched back so that you can walk down the aisle with him instead?”

“No!  That’s—the two of us, together?  No, I didn’t say that,” she quickly clarified.  “I just… it’s fine if he finds someone he can be with, but it would be better if I didn’t have to witness it.”

“And to think, you could’ve saved yourself all this grief if you had just gone out for coffee with me yesterday,” Brian joked.

“Did you have a plan for getting me through the wedding ceremony without noticing that he was here?” she asked.

“I would’ve come up with something clever.” 

“Like what?” she challenged.

“Think Danny Kaye in White Christmas,” he replied.

Claire’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.  “You were going to pretend to fall down the stairs and break your ankle?”

Brian nodded.  “I happen to know a doctor at Chicago General who would have gladly helped me to fake it.”

Claire laughed.  “It’s okay, really.  Like you said, John and I needed to talk.  And it’s been good seeing him again, despite all the…” Claire waved her hand around as she searched for the right word, but all she came up with was, “Kristen.”

“What about me?” Brian asked, feigning a look of sadness.  “Aren’t you glad I’m back?”

“I am!” she said, playfully nudging him.  “But I wish you could stay longer.  I was hoping that we’d get to hang out.”

“I know.  I didn’t really want to fly back so early tomorrow morning,” he said, “but it was the only flight that would get me home at a decent hour.  I promise to come back and stay with you when I have some actual vacation time.”

“You’d better.”

“I will.”

“Places, everyone!” Maggie yelled.

“Shall we?”  Brian held out his elbow and Claire linked arms with him.  They fell in line with the rest of the wedding party outside the sanctuary doors.  Brian and Claire stood at the front of the line, ready to lead.  John and Kristen were next in line, immediately behind them.

Maggie was in the middle of giving them last minute instructions when John leaned forward and whispered an additional tip in Claire’s ear, “Remember now, don’t pinch Brian’s ass.” 

Claire snickered loudly, and Maggie reprimanded her with a scowl.

_“Sorry,”_ she mouthed apologetically, and then turned back to glare at John.  He wouldn’t look at her, but he did have a satisfied grin on his face. 

_Oh, just wait_ , Claire thought.  She would definitely get him back for that.


	9. Dance With Me

The wedding ceremony was absolutely beautiful.  Despite the worries earlier in the day, everything went exactly as they had rehearsed.  John even managed to behave himself during the ceremony, and didn’t so much as fidget. 

Claire hadn’t forgotten, however, that he had made her burst out laughing just as they were about to walk down the aisle, and she knew that she would have to exact her revenge on him at some point that evening.  She found her opportunity after the photo session was over, and they were waiting to be driven to the reception hall.  John was standing by one limo, and Claire was a short distance away next to the other one.  She wasn’t happy that Kristen was at John’s side, flirting with him again, so when he happened to glance over, just as she was about to get in the limo, Claire couldn’t resist giving him a look that was sure to make him think.

When they arrived at the reception hall, Claire left Brian to mingle with the crowd, while she walked over to the head table alone.  Her new shoes had started to hurt her feet, and she had been looking forward to being able to sit down for a while.  The wedding planner had helpfully put little cards at the top of each place setting to let everyone know where to sit, and Claire quickly found the one with her name on it.  She took a seat and discretely slipped off her shoes under the table.

Guests trickled in at a steady rate, and it wasn’t long before the second limo arrived, carrying the rest of the wedding party.  John gravitated toward the head table as soon he entered the reception hall, as if some unseen force was drawing him to her.  She imagined that he probably had something to say to her.  Part of her hoped that it would be filthy.

She smiled when she saw how he was dressed.  During the short limo ride he had un-tucked his shirt, unbuttoned his top button, and lost his tie again.  Only John could manage to make such a sloppy appearance seem so sexy, she mused.  But then, she probably was a bit biased.

John didn’t acknowledge her at first.  Instead, he silently inspected the place settings, just as she had done.  She watched curiously, as he picked up Brian’s place card from the spot next to hers.

“John, I don’t think that’s—” she started to say, but he walked away, down the length of the table, before she could finish.  He came back a few moments later and replaced the card that he’d taken.

Claire leaned over for a better look, and felt her heart melt just a little.  He had switched Brian’s place card with his. 

John sat down in his new seat, and then very seriously asked, “So, what was with that look you gave me back there?”

Claire fought to hold back a satisfied grin.  “What look?” she asked, playing innocent. 

“You know damn well what look I’m talking about,” he said.  “That smoldering-hot, ‘fuck me’ look that you gave me right before you got in your limo.”

“Ohhh, _that_ look.  Why, was it distracting?” 

John shook his head in disbelief.  “You’re such a tease.”

“And you love it,” she countered.

Claire’s eyes sparkled playfully, and John was tempted to tell her just how much he loved it.  Their conversations always seemed to follow that pattern.  She would flirt, he would say something dirty, she would blush, and then neither of them would have to reveal their true feelings.  But that night felt different, and playful banter wasn’t going to satisfy John until he had an answer.  “Tell me why you gave me that look.”

Claire frowned.  She was annoyed that he hadn’t let the matter drop.  “You _know_ why.”  Because of Kristen.  Because someone else was touching him.  Because _she_ wanted to be the one touching him.  Because she wanted to feel him, and kiss him, and—

“Tell me,” he pleaded.  He needed to hear her say the actual words.

The raw emotion in John’s voice startled Claire, and she watched as a struggle played itself out on his face.  He looked like he wanted to believe that he had a chance with her, and yet couldn’t believe it, all at the same time.  She couldn’t let him suffer.

“I was jealous,” Claire admitted, and in that moment, felt as if she and John were the only two people in the room.

The small spark of hope that John had felt earlier was now a full on blaze.  “She’s not the one that I—”  he choked on the last word.

“What?” Claire pressed.  John hadn’t let her off the hook without an honest answer, and she was determined to do the same.

But John couldn’t bring himself to say it.  He wasn’t _that guy_.  He didn’t go around professing his love or pouring his fucking heart out—and now, he was stuck.  He stared blankly at Claire, who was patiently waiting for an answer, as his mind scrambled for a way to finish the sentence.

“I think you’re in my seat, John.”

John looked up and saw that Brian had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, just in time to provide him with the distraction he desperately needed.  Seriously, he could have kissed Brian, if he thought it wouldn’t send him the wrong message.  John leaned back in his seat and rested his arm across the back of Claire’s chair, adopting an air of nonchalance.  “What makes you say that?” 

“Well, traditionally the groomsmen sit next to the bridesmaids they escort,” Brian helpfully explained.  “And since _I_ walked with Claire down the aisle, that means that you’re in my spot.”

Claire knew that Brian was just trying to save her from an awkward situation, and started to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, but John interrupted her.  “Relax, I’ve got this.”  He picked up the place card in front of him and showed it to Brian.  “Is that _your_ name?  No.”

Brian carefully read the card for himself.  “I guess Maggie forgot to change the seating chart.”

John nodded as if this was what he had concluded as well.  “And we _could_ switch places, but then everyone else would want to switch…and it would be chaos.  I think Maggie would frown upon that, don’t you?”

“Probably,” Brian conceded.

“And personally, I don’t want her to yell at me.  Again.  So, I’m thinking that we should just accept our fate.  I’ll sit here with Claire and you can sit down there with the wannabe Courtney Love.”  John pointed to the other end of the long table where Kristen had just sat down.  Then he helpfully added, “You two should get along, you both like to talk a lot.”

Claire stifled a laugh and elbowed John in the ribs.  “Be nice,” she warned him, and then turned to Brian.  “It’s all right, I really don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”  It looked as though Brian was trying extremely hard to figure out what was going on between the two of them.

Claire nodded.  “I’ll catch up with you later.  I don’t want you leaving without saying goodbye.”

“I won’t.”

Brian walked off, leaving John alone with Claire once again.  Thankfully, the interruption had given John the time he had needed to come up with an answer for Claire.  “Want to sit with.”

Claire gave him a puzzled look, thinking that maybe she had missed something.  “Pardon?”

“That’s what I was going to say earlier.  ‘She’s not the one that I want to sit with’.”  Then, pouring on the charm, John slid his arm around Claire’s shoulders.  “I’d much rather be sitting with you.” 

Claire just shook her head and smiled.  She knew that John was trying to distract her, but she didn’t care.  He had given her an honest answer in the end, even if it wasn’t what he was originally going to say, and that was a big deal for him. 

John could be very contradictory when he spoke, but Claire had long ago learned that his actions always voiced the truth that he frequently left unsaid.  It was the little things, like showing up at her junior prom or offering to drive her to dinner because he remembered that she hated driving, that had always let Claire know how he had felt—not the utterance of some clichéd phrase that belonged in a greeting card.  And she was okay with that.

He seemed content, for the time being, to trace lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, which was also fine with Claire.  She placed her hand on his knee and mimicked his movements, as she savored the way his fingertips felt sliding across her skin.  It had been so long since he had touched her like that, and yet it felt like no time had gone by at all.

John was so caught up in what he was doing, that he barely paid any attention to the flute of champagne that was being placed in front of him.  Claire, on the other hand, noticed immediately.  She asked the waitress, before she had a chance to serve her, “Do you have anything non-alcoholic?”

“Sparkling white grape juice,” the waitress replied.

“I’ll have a glass of that instead.”

The waitress nodded and placed a glass from the left side of her tray in front of Claire.

“Five years, three months sober,” Claire explained when she caught John’s raised eyebrow. 

“Wow, that’s…unexpected,” he said.  “Good for you.”

“Thanks.  It hasn’t been easy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it hasn’t,” he said sincerely.  “Heh, I thought maybe for a second there that you were— never mind.”

“No, what?” she challenged.

“Pregnant,” he blurted out, suddenly very aware that he had never bothered to find out if Claire was currently in any kind of relationship.

“Oh!” Claire exclaimed.  “No, no chance of that happening.  I mean, because there hasn’t been—there _isn’t_ anyone right now.”

“Ah.  Okay.”  That answered that then.

“What about you?”

“Am _I_ pregnant?  Not likely.” 

She laughed.  “You know what I mean!” 

“Ohhh, you want to know if I have someone waiting for me back in Detroit.”

“Do you?” she asked, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“Only my boss,” he admitted, not wanting there to be any doubt that he was single.

“Good.  I mean, not that you’re alone, that’s not good, but it’s good that I don’t have to get jealous over anyone else tonight.”

“Damn, I was starting to like jealous-you.  Jealous-you is hot.”

“And regular-me isn’t?” she asked, not sure whether she should feel offended.

John gave her a teasing shrug.  “Eh, regular-you isn’t bad,” he said.  “But jealous-you makes me think inappropriate things.”

Claire blushed.

***

After dinner was over, Claire joined the other guests on the dance floor.  John, on the other hand, stayed seated at the table.  He had absolutely no desire to mingle or dance.  It was far more enjoyable to watch Andy be handcuffed to Allison from afar. 

Brian wandered down to the other end of the table while Andy and Allison were trying to figure out the best way to do the chicken dance.  He let out a tired sigh as he sat in Claire’s vacated seat. 

“How was dinner?” John asked. 

Brian glared at him.  “What do _you_ think?”

John chuckled.  “I think I’m glad I switched our place cards.” 

Brian didn’t look the least bit surprised.  “I knew it,” he said, shaking his head.  “You realize that this is the third time you’ve done this to me, right?” 

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“How?”  Brian proceeded to count off on his fingers.  “First, you swooped in and stole Claire away from me at the junior prom, then I didn’t get to escort her to the senior prom like I was supposed to, and now this.”  He held up his hand.  “That’s three.”

“No, it’s an opinion that I did all that to _you_ ,” John clarified.

Brian considered that for a moment.  “Do you still think she’s yours?” he asked curiously.

John tensed.  “Well, she’s certainly not _yours_ ,” he shot back.

“I didn’t say that she was,” Brian countered.  “But when you do things like swap places with me, it makes me wonder what you’re thinking.  I’m not blind you know, I saw you two together.  Something must have changed your mind.  Because yesterday you wanted to run away, but now…”

“I’m still not having this conversation with you,” John said.  He got up from the table and walked over to the edge of the dance floor. 

Brian followed him, but he had sense enough not to push the issue.  They watched the wedding guests dance the electric slide.  Claire waved to them mid-step when she noticed that she had an audience. 

“She looks happy,” John commented.

“Sometimes I think she is.”

“But other times?”

Brian shrugged, letting him fill in the blank for himself.

John frowned.  He hated to think of Claire being miserable.  The whole reason that he had stayed away was so she could be happy.  At least his absence had done one good thing.  “She stopped drinking, though.”

Brian turned to him in surprise.  “Did she tell you what happened?”

“No, just that she’d stopped a little while after I skipped town.”  John could fill in the blanks to that story as well.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had been the problem.  He had driven her to drink, and after he had left, she had stopped.  Simple as that.

“Listen, John, I wasn’t trying to attack you earlier, I was just…”

“Looking out for Claire?”

Brian nodded.  “She’s my best friend.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me that you also know what you’re doing.” 

Brian was looking for some kind of placating remark, but John didn’t have one to give him.  “When have I _ever_ known what I was doing?”

“More times than I think you’re willing to take credit for,” Brian said.

John sighed.  “Look, what do you want me to say?  I’m only here for the weekend.  So, whatever you think that you saw between me and Claire was just for show.  I mean, yeah, we flirted, and right now we’re being civil, but that’s only because _this_ —” he gestured around the room, “this right here— _tonight_ —this all we get.  It’s all we can ever have.”

Brian gave him a heartbroken expression.  “John—”

“Don’t,” he stopped him.  “Don’t give me that fucking look.  I don’t need your pity.  I made my peace with that a long time ago.” 

Thankfully, before Brian had a chance to respond, Claire came over and joined them.  She was flushed and slightly out of breath from dancing, and John thought she looked stunning. 

“The novelty dances are over,” she announced.

John pretended as though he hadn’t realized that the DJ had switched over to normal music.  “Are they?”

She nodded.  “Uh-huh.”

“I think Claire wants something,” he said in an aside to Brian.

Brian held up his hands in front of him.  “Oh, no, I’m not getting caught in the middle of this,” he said.

Claire laughed and tugged on John’s arm.  “C’mon, John.  Dance with me.” 

“If I must.” 

She smiled, seeing right through his reluctant act.  “You must.”

“Just the one song, though, right?” he asked, as she led him out onto the floor.

Claire put her arms around his neck.  “Now that I have you out here, do you really think that I’m going to let you go?”

“You’re right, I might disappear,” he teased.

“You might.”  She was serious.

John rested one hand on Claire’s hip, and pressed the other against the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.  “Nah, there’s only one place I want to be tonight,” he said.


	10. One Night

John had been a good sport and had slow-danced with Claire through three songs, but she could tell that he had hit his limit by the time Whitney Houston started singing the fourth.  He was beginning to get restless, and as a result, his hands kept venturing further and further south.  Not that Claire _minded_ having John’s hands on her ass, but there was a time and a place, and the very public dance floor during their friends’ wedding reception was _not_ it. 

“I never liked this song,” she told him.

John’s hands shot back up to Claire’s waist.  “Me neither.”

“Do you want to take a break?”

“Yeah,” he replied gratefully. 

“Meet you in fifteen?” she asked.

“Sounds like a plan.”

John headed toward the front door, while Claire made her way to the ladies’ room.  She wasn’t alone when she entered; Kristen was in there as well, washing her hands at the sink.  Claire silently walked past her, hoping to make it into a stall before the other bridesmaid noticed her.

Unfortunately, Kristen looked up and caught Claire’s eye in the mirror as she reached for a towel.  “You and John looked good together out there,” she said.

“Sorry,” Claire replied automatically.

Kristen gave her a baffled look.  “For what?”

Good question.  What _was_ she apologizing for?  “Because you and John were…”  She had no idea, really, but she felt guilty nonetheless.

“Paired together with absolutely no say in the matter?”

“Yeah, that.  And because you’re into him, and I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to steal him from you.  It’s just that John and I have this history, and it’s kind of complicated, but we’re really not together anymore, I swear.”

Kristen laughed.  “Seriously, Claire, it’s fine.  Don’t get me wrong, I think John is super freakin’ hot, and I would totally do him in a heartbeat, but I could tell that he wasn’t into me.  And now I know why.  He’s still hung up on you.”        

“No, he’s n—”  The protest died on her lips.  “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“It didn’t _look_ complicated when he couldn’t keep his hands off you,” Kristen said with a wink.

Claire blushed.  It hadn’t _felt_ complicated either.

***

“You’re a million miles away.”

John turned.  Claire was once again standing next to him.  “It’s been a long day,” he wearily admitted.  That morning seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Are you okay?”

If he said no, he would have to list the numerous reasons why he wasn’t entirely okay, and if he said yes, she would know that he was lying.  He opted for changing the subject, and hoped that she would think that he hadn’t heard her.  “So, how was the bathroom gossip tonight?  Overhear anything good?”

Claire knew what he was doing, but played along anyway.  She rolled her eyes and feigned annoyance.  “Just because the TV tells you that women stand around in the restroom and gossip, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“Are you sure about that?  I don’t think the TV would lie to me.”

“Well, I suppose if you must know, there may have been a rumor going around that John Bender is ‘super freakin’ hot’.”

“Did you write that on the stall door in permanent marker?” he asked.

“In your dreams,” she replied.

He nodded enthusiastically.  “Yeah, probably.”

She shook her head.  “How was the gossip out in the parking lot?”

“Men don’t gossip,” he informed her.  “We brag about our conquests and trade war stories. 

“Same thing.”

“No, there’s a difference.  And, if you _must_ know, I bumped into Dave Morgen over by the limos.” 

 “Who?”

“You wouldn’t know him, but he went to Shermer High.  We took shop together.  Apparently he’s a chauffeur now.”  He had also just bought a house for his wife and three kids.  _Dave Morgen_ , the kid that used to sniff paint thinner, was now a responsible adult.  The world was a crazy place.

“Good for him,” she said cheerfully, even though she couldn’t put a face to the name.  “Speaking of limos…Brian said that he was going to leave in a few minutes.  I was thinking that we could ride along with him to his hotel, and then have the driver drop me off at home and you back at Andy’s to get your car.  I mean, assuming that you’re ready to leave.”

“I’ve been ready to leave since I got here.”

“You haven’t been nearly as miserable today as you’ve pretended to be,” Claire said.

“Who’s pretending?”  He gestured to his tuxedo, which was more or less still intact, and asked, “You think I actually _liked_ walking around in this fancy get-up for half the day?”

“I think you had fun teasing Brian,” she replied. 

“Maybe.”

“And I _know_ you liked dancing with me.”

A little too much.  The half an hour that he’d had her in his arms had been the highlight of his fucking year.

“John?” she prompted.

“I heard you.” 

Claire frowned.  “It’s alright, you know,” she told him softly.  “You’re allowed to have fun.”

Was he though?  Sometimes he wasn’t sure.  He had spent so long thinking that he was undeserving of happiness that he felt guilty whenever good things happened. 

He looked over at Claire.  She was beautiful, but she wasn’t really his.  The whole evening had been one big illusion, and now that it was coming to an end, he was going to have to give her up again.  She wouldn’t be going home with him because they weren’t an actual couple.  Even though he had pretended—and might have told Dave—that they were. 

But maybe he hadn’t been the only one pretending.  “Why did you wear that necklace today?”

Claire narrowed her eyes at John.  “Why are _you_ still wearing the earring?”

“I asked you first.”

And she was sure that he already knew the answer too.  “I’m going to tell Brian that we’re ready to leave,” she said flatly.

“Fine.  I’m going to go tell Dave that we need his services.”

“Good, you do that.”

“I will.”

***

When Brian climbed into the limo, he noticed that Claire was sitting in the very back seat, picking at her nails, while John was sitting in one of the seats that ran the length of the limo, with his arms crossed over his chest.  Brian raised an eyebrow at the obvious tension between them, but said nothing.  Maybe John had been right about their truce only lasting through the reception.

Whatever was going on, Brian certainly wasn’t going to stir things up by asking about it, so he quietly took a seat on the other side of the limo, opposite John.  The driver shut the door behind him.

After a few minutes, Brian felt like he had to say _something_ to break the uncomfortable silence.  He opted for a neutral comment to get the conversation going.  “Well, this brings back some memories,” he said fondly.  Nothing.  He tried for a joke next.  “The Princess, the Brain, and the Criminal ride again?”

“Sounds like a cheesy western,” Claire muttered. 

“Don’t mind Claire,” John told to Brian.  “She’s just pissed that I called her on something earlier.”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Sorry, _embarrassed_.  But what I don’t get is why.  Did you think that I wouldn’t notice?  Or were you secretly hoping that I would?”

Claire ignored him and turned her attention toward the window.

“I was just remembering the last time all three of us rode in a limo together—on the way home from the Junior Prom,” Brian said.  “Do you know what I could never figure out?  Where you guys went the following year.  You never said.”

“Bowling,” John replied.

Upon hearing his answer, Claire looked over at John and they shared a secret smile.  Instead of going to her Senior Prom, she had spent the evening with him.

Brian groaned.  “Is that a euphemism?  No, don’t tell me.  Forget I asked.” 

John just chuckled, and Claire decided not to correct him.

Finally having succeeded at lightening the mood, Brian relaxed and loosened his bowtie.  “Man, I’m beat.  I wish I didn’t have such an early flight tomorrow morning.”

“At least you’ll be able to sleep on the plane,” Claire said consolingly.

“I wish.  I usually can’t fall sleep again once I’m already up.”

John leaned across and held out his hand in front of Brian.  “Hey, let me see your tie for a sec.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if it has the same thing on it as mine.”

Brian slipped his tie off and examined it curiously.  “What thing?”

“It’s hard to explain,” John said.  “I’d have to show you.”  Brian handed the bowtie over, but instead of explaining, John pocketed the tie.  “Thanks.”

Brian looked to Claire for an explanation, but she was biting her lip in an attempt not to laugh.  “Uh, what just happened?” he asked.

“He lost his tie,” she told him.

“And the tux place said that they wouldn’t give me a full refund of my deposit if anything was missing.”  John leaned back in his seat and tucked his arms behind his head.  “I’ve got a tie now, so problem solved.”

Brian let out a defeated sigh.  “I can’t believe I fell for that,” he said, and Claire finally cracked up.

 

When they arrived at the hotel, John said goodbye to Brian out front, but Claire walked with him into the lobby.  John watched through the glass doors as they hugged one last time.  As much as he annoyed him, John had to admit that he was glad that Brian had been there for Claire over the years.

“You alright?” he asked when she had joined him again.

She nodded.  “Just a little tired, is all.”

“So, I guess that we should probably call it a night then, huh?”

“I guess.”

“Or…we could take advantage of this sweet ride for a little while longer.”

She perked up at that.  “You’re not seriously suggesting that we hijack the limo, are you?”

“Dave was bragging that he gets paid for being on call all night, so I figure that we might as well give him something to do.”

“Where would we even go at this hour?”

“I can think of one place.”

 

***

The diner wasn’t busy when they arrived, and Betty greeted them almost as soon as they walked through the door.  “Table for two?” she asked.

“Actually, can we have that booth over there?” Claire pointed to the empty booth on their left, by the front window.

“Sure thing, hon,” she said, leading Claire and John to their favorite spot.  “You know, there’s something familiar about you two…”

“We used to come here a lot,” Claire helpfully supplied, as she slid into the booth.  John took off his tuxedo jacket and tossed it into the corner of his side of the booth before sitting down.

“Did you just come from the prom or something?” Betty asked conversationally.

John took a menu from her.  “No, a wedding,” he replied.

Betty nodded.  “Yeah, I thought you looked older than that.  Can I get you something to drink while you decide what to order?”

Claire glanced at the menu, but she was still pretty full from the reception.  “I think I’m just going to have a Diet Coke.”

Betty scribbled her order on her pad and turned to John.

“I’ll have a chocolate milkshake and an order of fries.”

“Alright, that’ll just take a minute.”  Betty took their menus back and went to fill their order.

“How can you be hungry?” Claire asked.

John shrugged.  “Fast metabolism?  It’s been a few hours since dinner anyway.”  For some reason that made Claire smile.  “What?” he asked.

“I was just thinking about the time we stopped here on the way to Allison’s after-prom party.  Remember how we filled up on food because we were convinced that the only thing she’d be serving was Captain Crunch sandwiches?”

“And then when we got there she actually had normal food, but we were too stuffed to eat anything, and she pouted about it until you claimed that you were dieting and then made me eat a slice of pizza?  Yeah, I remember.  I don’t know why we couldn’t have just told her the truth, though.”

“Because I was trying to be polite.”

“Fuck polite, I thought I my stomach was going to burst!”

“Good thing you have such a fast metabolism,” she teased.

“Ha ha.”

“I had fun that night.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

Claire looked around the still familiar diner.  It was almost as if they had managed to go back in time.  “I feel like I’m going to have to get up for school on Monday morning,” she mused.

“No kidding.”  If he had thought that coming to the diner alone had messed with his head, it was nothing compared to what it felt like being there with Claire. 

Betty brought them their order and they thanked her. 

“I suppose you still believe in fairytales?” John asked, reaching for the ketchup.

Claire tugged the wrapper off her straw.  She had given up on her fairytale dreams long ago.  But did she still believe that they existed for other people?  She wasn’t sure.  “I still believe that people can be happy together,” she answered carefully.  “Andy and Allison are a testament to that.”

“It only took them nine years to get their ‘magical ball’,” he said wryly.

“I’m not saying it’s a fairytale,” she clarified.  “Today was more like…a reward for all their effort.  It’s amazing that they’ve been together for so long.  Through college and everything.”

John pushed the fries around on his plate.  “We wouldn’t have lasted if I had stayed, you know.  What we had—it wasn’t the stuff of dreams.”

“It was for a while.”

“Right up until the clock struck midnight.”

“And I fell apart,” she admitted.

“That’s not what I—”

“But it _is_ what happened,” she argued.  “I was overwhelmed and I didn’t exactly handle it in the best way.”

Neither did he, to be honest.  “I tried, you know, to make enough money so that you could focus on your classes.”

She looked up at him in confusion.  “Is _that_ why you worked all the time?”

“At first.”  He had wanted to give her all the things that she was used to having.

“What about later?” she asked, but he ignored her and dipped two French-fries into his milkshake.  She shook her head in disgust.  “Revolting.  You’re just as bad as Allison.”

“Nah, this is actually good.”  He popped the milkshake-covered fries into his mouth to demonstrate his point.  “You should try it.”

“John, what about later?” she asked again, gentler this time.

“Later…later—look, does it matter?”

“Yes.”

It had been a long day, he was mentally exhausted, and he was sick of dancing around all the big issues.  If she wanted to hash this out, then sitting in their old booth at the diner seemed like as good a place as any.  “Later…I didn’t want to come home.”

She had suspected that was the reason, but actually hearing him say it _hurt_.  “You didn’t want to be around me.”

“No.  Maybe.  I don’t know.  It was a long time ago.”  He dug his straw into his milkshake and pulled it back out again, watching the melted ice cream drip slowly back into his glass.  “I just remember feeling like I turned into a monster when ever I was with you.”

Claire eyes shot up.  “No, John, you were never—”

“Why didn’t you tell the others what happened?”  He stabbed at his milkshake some more.  “You should’ve made me out to be the bad guy.”

“Because you weren’t.”

She said it so simply like it was a well-known fact, and that pissed him off.  “I _was_ ,” he insisted.  “If Andy knew—if he _knew_ what I did, he would have never invited me back, and everyone would’ve been happier.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

He shook his head.

“Deny it all you want,” she said, “but you know I’m right.  We needed this.”

He scoffed at her.  “What, closure?”

“What _ever_ this is.  And I didn’t tell anyone what happened because I think deep down I knew that I was as much to blame.”

“ _You_?”

As if the very notion of her being partially to blame was absurd.  “Yes, _me_.  I said some pretty awful things to you that night.”

He shrugged her off.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ because you didn’t deserve it.”

“Claire—”

“No, just let me—I have to say this.  I didn’t mean those things back then.  I knew it was wrong, but the alcohol…”  She took a deep breath and started again.  “I always knew exactly what to say to get a reaction out of you.  I used to try to make you angry because then I could feel like I was better than you.  It was a shitty thing to do, and I’m so ashamed of who I used to be.  But I’m not that girl anymore; I take responsibility for my actions now.  Just so you know.”

“I know,” he said resolutely.  He could see how much she had changed.  The woman that sat in front of him exuded confidence and maturity.  And if she could find a way to put the past behind her, then maybe he could find a way to do the same.  His hand reached across the table and found hers.

Betty came over with their check, and set it face down on the table.  She smiled when she saw the two of them holding hands, and started to walk away, but then stopped.  “Now I remember!” she exclaimed.  “Oh, you kids used to eat here _all_ the time!  I always wondered what happened when you stopped coming in.  I thought maybe…but look at you, still together after all these years!”

Claire caught John’s eye across the table and silently asked him with a raise of an eyebrow, _‘Should we tell her?’_

To which John replied with a subtle shake of his head.  “It was good seeing you again, Betty.”

“Can I get you a slice of pie before you leave?  We’ve got a real nice strawberry-rhubarb tonight.”

Claire smiled.  “No, thank you.”

“We have to get going,” John added.

“Well, you stop in again the next time you’re in town, alright?”

“We’ll try to,” Claire politely replied.

Once Betty left, John looked over at Claire again.  “You ready to go?” he asked.

“Yep.”  She opened her purse so that she could pay for her soda, but John stopped her.

“I’ve got this,” he said, picking up the check.  “This damn tux makes me feel all chivalrous and shit.”

“It also makes you look sexy,” she unabashedly told him, sliding out of the booth.

“Yeah, I’m a regular Prince Charming,” he boasted.

“How could I forget?”

John counted out enough money to cover the bill and leave Betty a generous tip.  Then he grabbed his coat and stood up to join Claire.  “The offer still stands, Princess.  Anytime you want a reminder.”

Claire furrowed her eyebrows.  “What offer?”

He slipped his jacket over Claire’s shoulders and used the lapels to pull her closer to him.  “The one to see my sword,” he murmured low in her ear, then pulled away and gave her a smirk.

“You’re still a pig,” Claire said, trying hard to sound disgusted, but failing miserably to hide her smile.

He laughed, feeling happier than he had in while.  Maybe it was the diner, or all the talk about fairytales, or maybe it was just Claire herself, but John found himself beginning to believe that the impossible was actually possible.

Outside in the parking lot, he gave Dave instructions to head to Claire’s apartment, and then waited for Claire to climb into the back ahead him.  He slid in next to her this time, and put his arm around her shoulders.  She tucked her head under his chin and rested her hand against his chest. 

“Hey, Claire?”

“Mmm?”

“If I answer your question from earlier, do you promise not to kill me?” John asked.

“Uh-huh.”  She was too distracted by the fact that she was wrapped in the familiar scent of his cologne and cigarettes to pay much attention to what he was saying.

“I haven’t been wearing the earring this whole time.  I pawned it when I got to Detroit.”

 _That_ , however, got her full attention, and she pushed away from him so that she could sit up.  “You _pawned_ my _grandmother’s_ earring?”

 He looked back at her in amusement.  “Hey, I thought you said it was mine?”

“Well, I didn’t think that you would ever _pawn_ it.”

 He chuckled.  “It’s not like I had much choice.  And if it makes you feel any better, I sold both my guitars and my entire record collection first.”

“Marginally.”  She was on the wrong side of him to get a close look at the earring that he was currently wearing, but hadn’t noticed anything different about it before.  “I assume that since you’re telling me this, you aren’t just wearing a cheap knock-off?”

“No, it’s the real deal,” he said.  “I regretted pawning it after I remembered what you told me when you gave it to me the second time.”

“What I—Oh.”  Claire’s cheeks turned pink at the memory, and she settled back against John so that he wouldn’t see.

“Yeah, well, when I remembered that, I knew I’d have to get it back.”  He brushed a few strands of hair off her face and told her, “It wasn’t easy.  Even after I found a job at a construction site, I didn’t have a lot of money after bills and cigarettes.  I hung on to my claim ticket though, and kept hoping that I would save up enough, but after three months, I still couldn’t buy it back, and it got put out for sale.”

“Who would buy just one earring?” she wondered, and frowned as she imagined someone using it for a nose ring.

“The guy at the pawn shop said that someone would probably put it in an engagement ring because it was a clean diamond.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah, and he had me worried that someone was going to snap it up pretty quickly too.  I checked back on it every Friday to make sure it was still there, but of course once it came off pawn, the price increased, so I had to save up even _more_ money that I didn’t have.”

“Couldn’t you have offered to pay for it a little at a time?”

John shook his head.  “The pawnbroker wasn’t interested in making a deal with me, he just wanted cash.  Anyway, there I was, thinking my prospects were pretty bleak, and then one day, I ran into the old man that owned the woodworking shop across the street.  He asked me why I needed to visit the pawn shop all the time, and I poured my fucking heart out.”

“That’s not like you.”

“I know!  But I hadn’t really talked to anyone in, like, five months, so I guess everything had just built up, and I unloaded it all on Lou.”

“That poor man.  What did he say when you told him?”

“He offered to lend me the cash.”

“Wow.”

“Well, there _was_ a catch.  I had to agree to apprentice for him.  Which I did, and now I’m a carpenter.  So, that earring has seriously helped me more than you can imagine.”

“And you’ve worn it ever since?”

“Yep.”

Claire considered his story for a moment.  “Hmm.”

“What?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing.”

“No, seriously, what?”

“Oh…I was just thinking that my grandma would’ve approved of that story.”  And what Claire didn’t point out was that John, without realizing it, had told her his very own version of a fairytale.  She took his hand and laced her fingers through his.  “You already know why I wore the necklace.”

“That doesn’t mean that I wasn’t surprised to see it.  I didn’t think you’d ever wear it again.” 

“Me neither.”

Outside the limo, the city sped past them.  They were only a few blocks away from Claire’s apartment building.  Last night had been a mistake.  They had both tried to push things too far, too fast, without talking, and as a result had fallen back on bad habits.  But tonight?

Claire looked down at their intertwined hands.  She didn’t know if it was a sign of something new or the end of something old.  All she knew was that they had one night together, and she was desperate for it not to be over yet.

“I liked that kiss last night,” she suddenly confessed.

“What, like this?”  John tilted her chin up and kissed her on the cheek.

She nodded.

“What about this one?” he asked, dipping his head to press his lips against her collarbone.

She sighed softly.  “I _really_ liked that one.”

He slowly kissed his way up her neck and along her jaw, before finally capturing her lips with his.  Claire lost herself in the kiss, and for a moment, she thought that they had actually managed to make time stop. 

Unfortunately, it was just the limo.  They heard Dave open his door, and the count down started.

“If you ask me to come up with you tonight, I won’t say no,” John quickly told her, in between kisses. 

“But, ah—” He was nibbling on her ear and it was making it hard to think.  “But I thought we agreed to go our separate ways after the wedding,” she managed to say.

“We never said _when_ after the wedding,” he pointed out.

She grinned.  Leave it to John to find a loophole.  “That’s very true.”

“So, what do you say, one last fling for old time’s sake?”

She kissed his throat, just as she had done in the closet nine years ago, when she had started them down their path.  “One night,” she agreed, looking him in the eyes.  “And then we can go back to our lives.”

“Because you have zero interest in me.”

 “And you’re totally over your feelings for me.”


	11. The Aftermath

**_Three weeks later_ **

Claire got home from work late and had little desire to try to cook anything, lest it end in disaster.  The safest, easiest option was to order takeout, and she was no stranger to the various restaurants whose delivery radius included her apartment building.  Menus covered most of the space on her refrigerator, two or three layers deep in places, but there was one corner she had recently cleared.

Instead of pondering her meal choices, her gaze drifted over to that corner, the spot where she had placed a post-it-note, three weeks ago.  It was _his_ handwriting— _John’s_ —and it still gave her a jolt every time she saw it.  Without thinking, Claire reached up and peeled the note off the fridge door.  She held it in her hand as if it was the most valuable thing she owned because in a way, it was.  It was the only tangible proof she had to remind her that John’s return hadn’t just been a fantasy.

She and John had gone their separate ways after the wedding, just like they had agreed.  They’d had their one, wonderful night together, and then, while Claire was in the shower the next morning, John had left.  Truthfully, Claire couldn’t say that she had been surprised.  In fact, she would have almost gone so far as to say that she had expected it. 

Neither one of them had wanted to admit it out loud, but they both knew that he couldn’t stay.  One night didn’t change anything, and reality had been waiting to greet them along with the sunrise.  John had a life to get back to, and so did she.

There was one small flicker of hope, though—one little, yellow square of paper that made her think that maybe something _had_ changed. 

 

_Didn’t want to say goodbye.  Call me sometime._

_-John_

 

He didn’t vanish like he had six years ago.  He left her with a way to contact him.  She hadn’t used his phone number yet, but knowing that she could call him whenever she wanted to made all the difference in the world.  John had placed the ball squarely in her court.  It was one-hundred-percent her choice whether or not to turn their ‘one night’ into something more.  She wondered if it was his way of making up for the fact that she had been forced into a reunion with him.

Whatever the reason, Claire appreciated the breathing room.  She tenderly placed the note back on the refrigerator and secured it with a sushi-shaped magnet.  It was starting to lose its stickiness, and she wanted to make sure it stayed right where it was.

***

Andy carefully stepped over the low stacks of boxes and wedding presents that were still sitting on the floor of his living room.  There had been no time to put anything away before leaving on their honeymoon, and even less time to do so after returning home.  Allison declared that Saturday was the day that they were officially going to tackle the chaotic mess in the Clark-Reynolds household, but fortunately, Andy found an excuse to put off cleaning for a little while longer.

He was on the hunt for the second album of proofs that the wedding photographer had dropped off on Thursday.  The first album was currently making its rounds through his family and probably wouldn’t resurface again until Christmas.  The couple had requested another so that their friends would be able to order pictures as well.

“I can’t find it!” he shouted to Allison, who was in the other room.  “Where did you say it was?”

“Under the pile of wrapping paper!” she yelled back.

Andy took a quick look around him.  Allison had organized the castoff wrapping paper into three piles, one of which looked like it would topple over if he got too close to it.  He didn’t want to move that one.  “ _Which_ pile?!”

Allison entered the living room and calmly lifted the neatly folded pile of wrapping paper.  “The one I’m going to use for my art project,” she said.

“Thanks.”  Andy picked up the photo album from under the pile, and then kissed his wife.  “I shouldn’t be long,” he told her.  “And then I promise I’ll help put some of this stuff away.”

“No rush,” Allison replied.  “It’s not like I’m looking forward to it any more than you are.  And I think you’re going to be at Claire’s longer than you realize.  She’s going to do more than just flip through the pictures like you did.  She’s going to actually take time and look at them.  It should be interesting to see her reaction, though.”

“Why?  She was at the wedding, it’s not like any of it’s going to be new.”

“No, but you know what they say about photographs,” she said with an air of mystery.  “Sometimes they catch things that we don’t see at the time.  Even if they are right in front of us.”

***

Claire slowly made her way through the proof album with a pen in hand, and made a list of the pictures she wanted to have copies of.  She had already chosen a few from the morning as the bridesmaids were getting ready, and now she was looking at the men getting ready at the church.  Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the first picture of John.  For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her that looking at the pictures would mean confronting him again.

She turned the page and laughed at the next series of photos.  It looked like Andy was trying to murder John.  “What on Earth was going on here?” she asked, turning the book toward Andy.

“Oh,” Andy said dryly, “That was me trying to get Bender to wear his tie.”

Claire smiled fondly.  “He hates ties.”

“I think he just likes pissing me off.”

Claire turned back to the album and chatted casually with Andy as she looked it over.  The photographer did an amazing job at capturing the ceremony.  Claire marked down a few more pictures that she liked—a couple of the entire wedding party together, and a particularly nice one of her and Brian.  Everything was fine until she reached the photos taken at the reception.

Andy noticed that Claire had suddenly gone quiet.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she answered quickly.  “I just realized that I never offered you anything to drink.”  She stood up.  “Do you want a glass of iced tea?”

Since she was already halfway to the kitchen, he didn’t think he could refuse.  “Sure.  That’d be great.”

Once she was out of the room, Andy slid the album over to have a look at what had made Claire leave the room so promptly.  When he saw the photos, he finally understood what Allison had meant. 

 

In the kitchen, Claire took a deep breath.  She needed a minute to collect her thoughts.  Seeing herself with John had been a shock.  They were in the background of many of the reception photos, mostly sitting at the head table.  He had his arm draped around her as if they were a perfectly natural couple.  She could practically feel his fingers move across her shoulder the way they had that night, tracing little patterns and igniting something very powerful within her.

But perhaps most damning were the pictures of them dancing together.  She barely recognized herself; she looked so happy and content.  As if she were at home in his arms.  And John, ever the realist, looked like he was trying to enjoy the moment and hold on to her for as long as he could.

Claire glanced over to his note on the refrigerator, and it finally hit her how much not being with him _ached_.  She had ignored it and convinced herself to wait for her emotions to settle, but after three weeks, she still felt the same heady rush whenever she thought about him.  The truth that she had been trying to deny was staring her right in the face. 

She had missed John more over the past three weeks than she had over the past six years.

He was like an addiction.  He made her feel the way she felt about alcohol when she was trying to get sober—she wanted him more than anything in the world, and if she didn’t get more of him soon, she was pretty sure she would die. 

Claire sighed.  She needed to talk to someone, and even though Andy was a good friend, she couldn’t talk to him about John.  He was too much a part of their history to remain objective.  She remembered the glee in his voice when she asked him for John’s number at the motel.  She doubted that even Brian could stay truly impartial.  No, there was only one person she could trust to be completely honest with her, even though he wasn’t going to like hearing what she had to say.

But first, she somehow had to get through the rest of those pictures.


	12. The Doctor is In

Claire rang the doorbell at her brother’s house and waited.  It wasn’t the best idea involving Rick in her relationship issues, but she needed someone to tell her if she was making a huge mistake.  She wasn’t sure that she could trust her own judgment anymore. 

The door opened and her sister-in-law, Kate, greeted her.  Claire could smell dinner cooking.  “Is this a bad time?  I should’ve called first.” 

Kate waved her off.  “No, not at all.  And you know that you’re welcome here anytime.”  She pulled Claire into a hug and invited her inside.  “What’s up?” 

“I need to talk to Rick.  Is he home?” 

A concerned look passed over Kate’s face, and Claire could only imagine what she was thinking.  “He’s in the shower,” she replied.  “But I’ll go run upstairs and tell him that you’re here.”

“No hurry.” 

“It’s fine.  He’s probably used up all the hot water by now anyway.”  As Kate walked up the stairs, she yelled toward the kitchen.  “Chris!  Charlie!  There’s someone here to see you.”

Thundering footsteps raced toward the foyer, and two identical, redheaded five-year-olds quickly appeared.  “Hi, Aunt Claire!” they greeted in unison. 

Claire knelt down and pulled her nephews into an embrace.  When they caught her up with all the recent happenings, Charlie finally wondered, “Are you here to baby-sit us?”

Claire laughed.  “Nope, not tonight.  I came over here to talk to your daddy.” 

“He’ll be down in a few,” Kate said, as she came back downstairs.  “Why don’t you join us in the kitchen while you wait?”

Claire followed Kate and the boys back to the kitchen and took a seat at the island.  The boys, on the other hand, sat back down at the table, where it looked as though they had been coloring.  Kate went straight to work and stirred a sauce on the stove. 

The scene was cozy and home-y in a way that Claire’s childhood hadn’t been.  It was something that she didn’t remember noticing when she lived with her brother and his family five years ago.  Perhaps she had been too wrapped up in her guilt to pay attention to anything else.  Watching them now, however, triggered a strong domestic urge in Claire.  She wanted to be like Kate.  She wanted a happy, domestic scene in her own kitchen.  With her own family—her own _kids_.  

That last thought caught her off-guard.  Somewhere, deep down, Claire suspected that she had always wanted kids, but she had never let herself admit it before now. 

“Are you going to be able to make it to our party this year?” Kate asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. 

Claire blinked.  Was she?  With all the wedding stuff, and the after-wedding stuff, she hadn’t given it much thought.  “It’s next Sunday, right?” 

“Yup.”

“Then I should be able to make it.  Do you want me to bring anything?”

Kate thought for a moment.  “How about a salad?”

Claire grinned, Kate knew her too well.  “I think I can manage that.” 

Rick joined them a few minutes later.  Claire hopped down off the stool and followed him into his study.  He closed the door behind them and asked, “On a scale of one to ten, how worried should I be?” 

Claire rolled her eyes.  “Why do you do that?  Just assume that you need to be worried?”

“Because the only time you show up on my doorstep unannounced is when something’s wrong.”

“It is not,” she denied, even though he was probably right.  “And nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to talk.”

“Is your phone broken?”

“This isn’t exactly something I could tell you over the phone.”

“Hence me wondering if I should worry.”

Claire decided it would be best to get it over with quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.  “Johncameback,” she said, and then turned her attention to the bookshelves.

It took Rick a minute to process what Claire had said.  Not because of how fast she had said it, but because he hadn’t expected to ever hear his sister speak her ex’s name again.  A surprised, “Oh?”, was all he could manage in response.

“He was in the wedding party,” she explained, and picked up an antique syringe out of its wooden case.

“What happened?” he pried.

Claire set the syringe back down, and picked up a small bottle that had once held laudanum. 

Rick sat on the sofa and watched Claire feign interest in his antique medical collection.  He wished he knew what had happened six years ago to cause John to leave.  One sober sentence was all he’d ever gotten out of his sister on the matter. _‘John left, and he’s never coming back’_.  From then on, she’d refused even to mention his name.  On the rare occasions she brought him up, she referred to him only as ‘the hypocrite’, or ‘the asshole’.

“We talked,” Claire finally said.  “And then we…did more than talk.”

“Are you okay with that?” he asked, trying to tread lightly.

“I am, and that kind of scares me.”  She set the bottle back on the shelf and turned around to face him.  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said off his look. 

“And what’s that?”

“That I shouldn’t even entertain the idea of starting up a relationship with him again.  Because of how it ended last time.”

“Well, I can’t say that I’m thrilled with the idea,” he conceded.

“It’s different now,” she tried to explain.  “ _We’re_ different.”

“That’s the same thing you told me when you got back together with him after you broke up in high school,” he reminded her.

“I know, but it was different then too.  We were still kids when he left!  It’s been _six years_ , I’d like to think that we’ve grown up since then.”  She sat on the edge of his desk and said in a softer voice, “I haven’t forgotten what he did, but I’m willing to share in the responsibility now.  We were both at fault.”

“Are you finally ready to tell me what happened?”  He and Brian Johnson had compared notes one evening and come up with a theory, but that was all it had been.

Claire stared down at the wine-colored carpet.  “I made him do it,” she shamefully admitted.  “I goaded him into it.”

“Hitting you,” Rick guessed.

“Slapping me,” she corrected.  “I knew he wouldn’t.  Not unless I…  I said some horrible things, Rick, _really horrible_ things.  Just to get a reaction out of him.  I wanted—”  Claire paused because she was getting choked up at the memory.  “I wanted him to hit me so that I had an excuse to kick him out.  How sick is that?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty messed up,” he admitted.

“There is something seriously wrong with me.”

Rick walked over and leaned on his desk next to Claire.  When her sobs quieted, he spoke again.  “There’s nothing’s wrong with you, Claire,” he said quietly.  “You know what was wrong with things _then_.  But you recognized that you had a problem and chose to fix it, even though it wasn’t easy.  Mom and Dad might never be able to say it, but I can.  I’m proud of you.”

Just when Claire had thought she was done crying, her tears started flowing again.  She hugged her brother.

“Aw, jeez.”  Rick reached over, grabbed a box of tissues off the desk, and handed it to her.  “Here, one shower was enough for today.”

She laughed and dabbed at her eyes.

Rick gave her a moment before turning serious again.  “And now he’s back.”

Claire pulled away, sensing his displeasure.  “I’m not making excuses for him, but it wasn’t something he did to be mean or controlling.  It wasn’t like with Parker,” she insisted.  “It wasn’t even hard enough to leave a bruise.”

“Even still—”

“I know, and he knows too, believe me.  I think he’s punished himself more than you or I ever could have.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Rick said.  He could think of a lot of creative ways to punish John.

“You didn’t see him,” Claire said.  “It was like he couldn’t allow himself to be happy.  I’ve been living my life, trying to turn things around for the past six years, and meanwhile he’s been stuck in a pit of self-loathing.  No one deserves that.”

“And you think that getting back together with him will what, ease your conscience?”

“No.  No, it’s not like that.”

Rick raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not,” she said emphatically.  “I want to get back together with him because I can’t imagine going through the rest of my life without having him by my side.” 

His sister had made her declaration with so much conviction, that Rick was resigned to accept the inevitable.  He just wanted to know one thing first.  “What’s going to happen the next time things get difficult?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.  “But I hope that we’ve both matured enough to handle our problems like adults.  Not having money issues and the stress of college will help a lot.”

“There are other things that could come up.”

“I know.”

Rick sighed.  “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do, I’ve never done that.  I just want you to think about what you’re getting yourself into,” he said, giving her a long, hard look.  He didn’t want to see her end up hurt again.

Claire understood what he wasn’t saying.  “I have.  And when I was with him for that one night, it was like finding a missing piece to a puzzle.  You know me, I’ve had a ton of boyfriends since John.  Models, a lifeguard, a doctor, two lawyers.  Can you remember a single one of them?  I barely can, and a couple of them were ‘perfect’.  None of them held a candle to John, despite his flaws.”

Rick shook his head.  “I still don’t know what you see in that poser.”

“Rick—”

“ _But_ I do know that I haven’t seen you truly happy since he left.  If things are really as different as you say, and having him back in your life will fix that, then I’ll try to keep my reservations to myself.”  He _would_ have a serious chat with John, however.

“Thank you,” she said, and gave her brother another hug.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said softly.

“You won’t.”

When Claire let him go, Rick asked, “And you’ll come to me if there’s a problem?”

“I promise.”

“Good.  Now, did Kate talk to you about the party on the Fourth?”

“Yeah, I’m bringing a salad.”

“Is that _all_ you’re bringing?”

Claire hesitated.  “I don’t know…”

***

The phone next to his head was ringing.  John vaguely understood, as he slowly became aware of his surroundings, that he should answer it.  He cleared his throat and picked up the receiver. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me,” said an overly chipper, female voice.  When he didn’t say anything in response, the voice added, “I mean, it’s Claire.”

“I know who it is,” he said.  “I was just trying to figure out if I was still dreaming.”

“Did I wake you?”

John fumbled around in the dark of his bedroom until his hand reached his clock radio.  He turned it toward him and forced his eyes to focus on the numbers.  “At eight-seventeen on a Sunday morning?  Damn straight you did.”

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly, “I’ve been up since six.  Should I call back later?”

He sat up in bed and stretched.  “No, but I haven’t had my coffee yet, so keep that in mind if you want to discuss anything complicated.”

“Will do.”

“So…” he prompted.

“So?”

“So, did you call just to wake me up?”

“Oh!  No.  I was actually wondering what you were doing next weekend.”

 “Sleeping in later, I hope.  Why?”

“Rick’s having a party on the Fourth.  Well, it’s really more of a family picnic, though he promises that there will be fireworks this year, and I want you to come.”

She slipped in the invitation so casually at the end that he almost didn’t catch it.  “To the picnic?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who else is going to be there?”

“Mostly Kate’s family, but some of mine too.  My parents, for starters…”

“Are they still together?”

“Still married?  Yes.  Still together?  Only when they have to be.”

“Sounds like fun,” he said dryly.  He couldn’t wait for the lecture on how he’d ruined Claire’s life.

“I’ll try to make it painless for you.”

He sighed heavily.  “You really want me to come to this thing?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “I mean, if you don’t already have plans for the holiday, I thought it’d be nice if you could come with me.”

“As your date?”

She paused only for a heartbeat before answering, “Yes.”

John didn’t respond right away.  If Claire was offering a chance to reconcile, he didn’t want to turn her down.  But it was hard to shake the lingering doubts he about it being a good idea to start things up again. 

“You still there?”

“Just thinking,” he replied.  In truth, he had already made his decision long ago.  “I could leave on Friday after work, and the shop’s not open on Monday.  So, I shouldn’t have to ask for any time off.”

“Great!” she said, a little overenthusiastically.  John thought she sounded nervous.  “Call me when you get in, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed.

 “Bye.”

John hung up and promptly went back to sleep.  When he woke up two hours later, he wondered what he had gotten himself into.


	13. The Return

Driving back to Shermer was a completely different experience for John than it had been one month ago.  The unsettled feeling was gone.  This time, he knew exactly what to expect from his hometown.  Shermer would be the same as it was when he left, and he wouldn’t be made to feel as if everything had changed without him.  He was no longer an outsider, and returning to Shermer actually felt comfortable.  Normal, even.  However, there was one slight issue preventing him from being completely at ease.

Claire was involved, and that made things complicated.  It also meant that in the span of five hours, John’s emotions had run the gamut of everything from giddy anticipation to sheer terror.  His feelings currently resided somewhere in between the two, which is how he imagined bomb-makers must feel while waiting for an explosion to go off.

The problem was, no matter how much he wanted to see Claire, or how much he wanted to _believe_ , the realist in him knew that anything could happen.  Good or bad.  The weekend was either going to be a new beginning or their final chapter, and both scenarios scared him.  He didn’t want to lose Claire, but at the same time, he didn’t know if he could hold on to her.                     

They hadn’t spoken in a week—not since the morning she had called him out of the blue.  The plan was for him to let her know when he got in to the city.  Unfortunately, a week’s time had turned him into a wuss.  He’d made it to Chicago a half-hour ago, but instead of stopping at a payphone, he’d kept on driving.  Claire hadn’t explicitly invited him to stay with her for the weekend, and he hadn’t bothered to call and clear that little detail up.  He knew if he called, she would ask him to stay, and he knew if she asked, he would say yes. 

If he stayed with Claire, he would have to deal with the fact that he had gone back to square one without erasing any of the past.  He knew all of intimate details, from which side of the bed Claire preferred to which part of E.T. always made her cry, but he didn’t know any of the basics.  He had no idea where in the kitchen she kept the coffee mugs, or even what kind of car she drove.  He didn’t know the kind of things that _anyone_ would have a passing knowledge of if they had been a part of her life in the past six years. 

He felt like a fraud.

There was no solace to be found in Chicago that evening, but John knew that Shermer would welcome him back with open arms.  As long as he was willing to swallow his pride.

***

To say Pete was stunned when he answered his front door would be an understatement. 

John grinned.  “Honey, I’m home.”

“Well, shit.  Satan must be strapping on his ice skates right about now.”

John scratched the back of his head.  “So, look, I know this is kinda spur of the moment, but, uh… you got a couch I can crash on for the weekend?”  He felt a little like he was back in high school and asking his friend for a place to stay to avoid his parents.  He half-expected Pete to laugh at him.

But Pete just moved aside and opened the door wider.  “Yeah, sure, man, c’mon in.”

Last year, when Pete told him that he had done a ‘very adult thing’ and bought a house, John teased him.  He called him an old man, and joked that he had sold out.  But after looking around the place, John couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

“You want something to eat?” Pete asked.  “I just finished supper, but there’s some ziti leftover.  It’s probably still warm.”

“Sounds good.”

Pete led him into the kitchen and pulled out a plate from the cupboard.  “So, I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Bender.”

“Yeah?”  John took a seat at the table.  He tried to think of what he could’ve possibly done to upset Pete, other than to insinuate himself into being his houseguest.

“Yeah.  How come I had to hear about your triumphant return to Shermer last month from my brother and not from you?”

John winced.  After the wedding, he’d stopped into Pete’s older brother’s music store for some guitar strings.  It was probably a mistake not telling Pete about the encounter, but it wasn’t as if he’d had the chance.  John hadn’t talked to him in the past month.  “Eric mentioned that he saw me?”

“Damn straight he did.  It was a momentous occasion.  It was a good thing I was sitting down when he told me, or I might’ve fallen over from the shock.”

“Jesus, it’s not like I had some big plan,” John said.  “The store was on my way and I was only in there for five minutes.”

“A likely story.”  Pete set the plate in front of John and handed him a fork. 

“Likely because it’s true.  I needed some new strings and I thought maybe he’d give me a discount.”

“Did he?”

John nodded.  “Fifteen percent.  And like I said, it was on my way out of town.  I would’ve come by your place if I’d had the time.”

“Which brings me to my next question,” Pete said, as he carried a casserole dish over to the table.  “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“I told you, I need a place to cra—”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

John _did_ know, but he didn’t really feel like explaining.  He could tell from the look on Pete’s face, however, that the discussion was far from over.  “Whatever it is, just say it.”

“I’ve been trying to get you to come back and visit for _six years_.  Then, all of a sudden, you show up _twice_ in the span of a month?  And I don’t find out about it until after the fact?  That’s some messed up bullshit right there.”

Ignoring him, John spooned some of the pasta onto his plate and took a bite.  It wasn’t bad.  “Is this your grandmother’s recipe?”

Pete crossed his arms over his chest.  “Don’t change the subject.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“How about you start with an explanation?”

John poked at the ziti with his fork.  “You know why I couldn’t come back,” he said, unwilling to meet Pete’s eyes.

“And what, you just woke up one morning and decided that your self-imposed exile was over?”

John shrugged.  “I guess.”

“No,” Pete declared.

John looked up from his plate.  “’No’?”

“N-O.  As in, no fucking way did John Bender, who was too scared to come home on the off chance that he would run into ‘you-know-who’ around town, come back willingly.  Who died?”

John rolled his eyes.  “Nobody died.”

“Then what happened?”

John let out a resigned sigh.  “Do you remember how I told you last year that Andrew Clark tracked me down?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I may have let him convince me that it was a good idea to be in his wedding last month.”

Pete leaned forward.  “ _Aaaand?_ ”

“ _And_ , I wouldn’t have done it, except that he told me Claire wasn’t going to be there.”  John stabbed a piece of sausage, imagining it to be Andy’s face.  “Turns out he lied.”

“Shit, how did that go down?”

“How do you think?  It was a fucking disaster.  But I explained some stuff to Claire and then we talked.”

Pete didn’t look impressed.  “And everything’s okay now?  Just like that?”

“It wasn’t ‘just like that’, but I think so.  More or less.”

Pete still wasn’t convinced.  “Uh-huh, and you’re gonna what?  Start things back up again?  Pick up where you left off?”

That was the question of the century, and John had been wondering about the answer to that himself.  He told Pete the only thing he did know for certain.  “I’ve got a date with her on Sunday.”

Pete shook his head.  “I dunno, man.  Don’t you think this is a bad idea?  I mean you guys had a good thing for a while, but then it just turned really unhealthy.”

John’s guard back went up.  “I’m not going to hit her again.”

“I know you’re not,” Pete said calmly.  “But what about _her_?  Is she still the same?”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t forgotten, even if you seem to have.  Claire screamed as much as you yelled, and I remember things being thrown at you on more than one occasion.  That phonebook barely missed your head.”

And had left a sizable dent in the apartment wall.  John would have fixed it, but he left two days later.  “She doesn’t drink anymore.”

“You actually believe that?”

“Yeah.  I do.”

Pete chewed on that piece of information for a while before asking, “Does this means that you’re going to stick around?”

“For this weekend at least.  After that, I don’t know.  I guess it all depends on whether or not I can join the new band,” he said with a smirk.

“Real smooth, Bender.”

“Hey, I had to try.”

“I’ve actually got practice tonight,” Pete said, glancing at the clock on the stove.  “I’d invite you to come along, but…”

“I’d be too much of a distraction?” John guessed.

“That, and Eric banned anyone else from being in the room while we’re practicing.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Spezz happened,” Pete replied.  “It’s a long story, but let’s just say that he royally made a mess of things, and we had to finally kick him out.”

Spezz was the only person John knew in high school who was more messed up than he was.  He dropped out of school during their senior year, but they’d kept in touch until John moved to Detroit.  “How’s he doing?”

Pete sighed heavily.  “If he’s not back in jail, then he’s probably on the street looking to score some heroin.  I know we were friends with him and all, but he is a lost cause.”

“That could’ve been me,” John said.  “Hell, that probably _should’ve_ been me.”

Pete gave him a thoughtful look.  “I guess Claire’s influence on you wasn’t all bad.” 

“She was the best thing to happen to me.”

“That’s debatable,” Pete said under his breath.  Then, with a wide grin asked, “You still writing lyrics about her?”

John held his face in his hand.  “ _One_ song, that’s all I ever wrote about her.  One.  And it’s only because your dipshit brother got writer’s block after what’s-her-face dumped him.”

Pete laughed.  “Those were the days.  The last time he was dumped, he wouldn’t _stop_ writing lyrics.  But, hey, at least we got some good songs out of it.  Speaking of which, do you want to come to our gig tomorrow night?  I can put you on the list.”

“Sure.”

“And if you ask nicely, maybe we’ll play your song,” he teased. 

“I am never going to live that down.”

“Nope.”  Pete stood up.  “I’ve gotta get going, but you’re welcome to hang out and watch TV or whatever.  I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple hours.”

“You mind if I use your phone?”

“Not unless it’s long distance.”

“Is a 1-900 number long distance?  Because I can’t sleep at night unless I talk to Candy at the Hooker Hotline.”

“Funny.”

***

Claire was in the middle of cleaning her apartment when she heard the phone ring.  She turned off the vacuum cleaner so that she could answer it.  “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

John’s voice sent shivers down her spine, and she didn’t even try to hide her enthusiasm.  “Hi!  I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon!  Are you calling from the road?”

“No, I’m already here.  Lou let me out of work early once he heard where I was going.  I’m, uh, I’m at Pete’s house.  He said I could stay with him.”

“Oh.”  Claire’s enthusiasm deflated in an instant.  She’d just assumed that he would want to stay with her, and had been looking forward to seeing him that evening.  In retrospect, it was a stupid assumption, and perhaps for the best that they didn’t try to push things too fast.  “That was nice of him.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t give him much of a say in the matter.”

“Do you two have plans for tonight?”

“Sadly, no.  Pete’s going to band practice and I’m probably going to play his Super Nintendo for the rest of the evening.” 

“Still addicted to video games, I see.”  She had fond memories of late night Atari sessions with John in her bedroom.  She was never very good at most of the games, but she liked to watch John play.

“You know that’s right.  So, tell me baby, what are you wearing?” he asked in a low, seductive voice.

Claire was puzzled by the bizarre turn the conversation had taken.  As she was opening her mouth to ask what was going on, she heard a scuffle followed by Pete’s muffled yells.

_“Dude, I thought you were joking!  I’m not paying for your perverted fantasies!  Hang up!”_

_“No.”_

_“Bender!  Give me the phone!”_   Pete must have ripped it out of John’s grasp at that point because the next voice Claire heard on the line was his.  “Hello?”

“Hi, Pete.”

“Oh…Claire.  How’s it going?”

“Not bad.  How are you doing?”

“Good,” he replied.  “Running late for practice, though.  Here’s Bender.”

There were more muffled sounds, as if one of them had their hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and then she heard John’s voice.  “Me again, Sweets.”

“What was _that_ all about?” she asked.

“Pete somehow got the wrong idea about who I was talking to.”

Suddenly, all the chaos made sense.  “Did you tell him that you were going to call a phone-sex operator?”

“I might’ve implied…”      

“Uh-huh.” 

“What?  It’s not my fault if he’s gullible.”

Claire shook her head in amusement as she walked out onto her balcony.  It was a clear night, and she hoped the weather would hold for the whole weekend.  Which reminded her, “How much trouble are you going to cause for me on Sunday?”

“Well, that kind of depends, doesn’t it?”

“On?”

“Who’s doing the provoking,” he said.  “Do your parents know I’m going to be there?”

“Not exactly, no.”

He let out a wry laugh.  “Well, at least I’ll be able to say that I know where I was when World War Three started.”         

“It’s not going to be that bad,” she assured him.  “And anyway, Rick will be there to help run interference between you and my mom.”

“Or to help run me out of town.”

“He said he was going to give you a chance.”

“Does he know—”

“Yes.”

“Then there’s no way I don’t end up with at least a few broken bones.”

“He’s not going to break anything.  I just said that he—”

“No, you’re right.  He’s a doctor.  He could poison me and make it look like an accident.”

Claire rolled her eyes.  “Well, then I promise if something happens to you, Rick’s name will be at the top of the list that I give to the police.”

“That’s all I ask.  How’s he doing these days, anyway?”

“Good.  He and Kate have twin boys.  They turned five in March.”

“God, your brother’s been married for…”

“Six years,” she supplied.  Rick and Kate’s wedding was the last place they had gone as a couple.  Barely one month later, John left. 

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” he murmured.

Claire’s memories of her brother’s wedding day were hazy.  She’d had a couple of drinks before the ceremony and then taken full advantage of the open bar at the reception afterwards.  “I wish I remembered more about that day,” she said with heavy regret.

“No, you don’t,” John replied.  “You were pissed at me for most of it.”

“I don’t even remember that.  I know we danced, but I don’t remember watching them cut the cake, or throw the bouquet, or—” 

“Why do you think you were so pissed at me?” he asked.  “I dragged you out of there before all of that.”

“To keep me from making a fool out of myself,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.  “God, I was so unfair to you.”

“Hindsight, Princess.  It doesn’t do any good to dwell on it, trust me.”

She wanted to hug him.  “I wish you were here with me.”

There was a pause, and then, “Twenty minutes and I could be.”

She gave his offer a considerable amount of thought.  It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but she swallowed her response.  It probably wasn’t a good idea. 

John must have reached a similar conclusion because he changed the subject.  “Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

“No, why?”

“You asked me out.  It’s only fair that I return the favor.”


	14. Chicago Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda pushing the T rating for this chapter...

The last time Claire had gone on a date with John Bender, U2 was playing non-stop on her radio, and the Berlin Wall was still standing.  Suffice to say, it had been a while. 

She hadn’t expected him to ask her out, and without thinking, she had said yes.  Panic settled in much later.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go on a date with him, it was just that she wasn’t sure she knew _how_ to anymore.  They wouldn’t have anyone else around to help break the awkward silence, and Brian certainly wasn’t going to show up and smooth things over for them if they got into an argument.  It felt like a test to see if they were capable of being civil for an entire evening. 

And what if it wasn’t possible anymore?  Did that mean there was no hope for them?  Would there be any point in going to the picnic together then?  She didn’t have those answers.  All she had was a growing knot in her stomach, and a vague sense that whatever happened would set the precedence for the rest of her life. 

_No pressure_ , she thought wryly.

She had to buzz John in when he got there, and she paced back and forth across her living room while he made his way up in the elevator.  Why had she thought it would be a good idea to live on the fourteenth floor again?  She couldn’t remember.  Her heart skipped a beat when he knocked. 

She took a couple of deep breaths before opening the door.  There was a sense of déjà-vu as she saw John standing in the hallway, looking much as he had one month ago.  He was staring down at the floor, and his hair hung forward around his face.  He was dressed in what she took to be his standard fare, jeans ripped at the knees, and a black Pearl Jam t-shirt.  A long-sleeve, plaid flannel shirt was tied around his waist. 

It surprised her that his arms were bare.  For as long as she had known him, he had always kept his scars covered up when they went out.  She wondered when he had become comfortable showing them in public.  It was a stark reminder that, even though he was still John, he had changed.  One day, she would show him her scar.  It, too, was evidence that she was a different person. 

There was a moment’s hesitation when his eyes lifted and caught hers, but then any nervousness that either of them felt dissolved as they quickly wrapped their arms around each other.  Claire breathed him in.  He smelled like tobacco and Old Spice.  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” she said into his neck.

John replied by holding her tighter, and in his embrace, Claire found all the answers she needed.

***

Since John had managed to get a parking space out front of Claire’s building, they decided against driving to the club.  Instead, they walked a couple of blocks to catch the train.

The doors to the club were open when they got there, and the opening band was already playing.  They stood toward the back of the club where it was less crowded.  John’s younger self would’ve disapproved of not being up close to the stage right in the middle of all the action, but the mosh-pit held less appeal than it had in the past.  Besides, there was no way he was going to put Claire in a position where she could get knocked around or kicked in the face by a crowd-surfer.

When Eric and Pete’s band came on stage, the crowd really came alive with cheers and loud whistles.

“They’re pretty popular,” Claire shouted over the noise.

“Yeah, once they ditched the heavy-metal sound, they apparently picked up a small following.”

“You miss it, don’t you?”  She nodded toward the stage.

“Nah.”

But later, when she caught him playing air guitar, his cover was blown.  Truth be told, he did miss performing for an audience.  It gave him a rush that he didn’t get from anything else.  He imagined it was probably an even better experience when more than twenty people actually came out to see you play.  If he ever moved back for good, he would have to weasel his way back into the line up.

The band walked off stage after their last song, but the crowd kept cheering.  A couple of minutes later, Eric walked back out with an acoustic guitar for an encore.  The noise quieted, and he addressed the crowd.

“Thanks for coming out to see us tonight.  Our last song this evening is a special request from our back catalog, and since I’m the only one that remembers how to play it, the guys sent me out here on my own.”

The crowd laughed, but John tipped his head up to the ceiling and groaned.  He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and that he wasn’t going to like it.

Claire turned.  “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to murder Pete,” he replied.

“Why, what—”

“A good friend wrote these lyrics about a chick he was seeing,” Eric explained.  “And I’m pretty sure they got him laid.”

There was more laughter, and this time John joined the crowd.  Claire, who had apparently figured out what was going on, glared at him. 

He held up his hands in defense.  “He’s guessing.”  John was reasonably sure he’d never made any claims of that nature.  “I think.”

She frowned.

John pulled Claire in front of him and wrapped his arms around her waist.  “Oh, c’mon,” he murmured in her ear, “You can’t tell me it wasn’t eventually true anyway.”

“No comment,” she replied.

They stood facing the stage together, and listened to the song for the first time in almost a decade.  John remembered the first night they’d played it for an audience.  It had been a wild departure from their heavier rock anthems, and the crowd at the time tolerated it, but it didn’t get the big reaction they had hoped for.  Maybe Eric had just been ahead of his time when he’d written the music.  The crowd that evening seemed to love it. 

Nine years ago, it hadn’t been about winning over a crowd for John, he’d only cared about winning over one person.  The girl he had lost because he’d been an idiot and hadn’t believed that she could actually love a guy like him.  He remembered thinking when he wrote the lyrics that if he could just get her to look his way once more, it would be enough.  The worst thing imaginable at the time was for her to forget about him.

He could have never predicted that there would come a day when he wished she wouldn’t remember who he was.

Claire cheered after the song finished, and when she turned to him with a big smile on her face, all dark thoughts about the past vanished.

***

The lyrics to the song weighed heavily on Claire’s mind as they walked back to the train station.  It was the first time she had pondered them in many, many years.  She couldn’t get the image of the falling rain out of her head.  It felt like an analogy for all the problems that they’d had to deal with over the years.  No matter what they did, there would always be issues—hard times, arguments, whatever—she couldn’t prevent that.  Just like she couldn’t keep the rain from falling.

But a little bit of rain didn’t have to be the end of the world.  If it rained tomorrow, for example, the picnic would still happen.  Plans were flexible.  They could eat inside and play UNO to keep the kids entertained.  It might not be exactly how they had imagined the day going, or even how they had hoped it would turn out, but that didn’t mean it was a disaster and that they should never try to have another picnic. 

“You’re quiet,” John said, breaking through her thoughts.

“I was just thinking about the song.”

“You mean the corniest, most cheeseball thing I’ve ever written in my entire life?”

“Stop it.”  She bumped her hip against his as they walked.  “I liked your cheesy gesture.”

“Noted.  Now let’s never speak of it again.”

“Will you play it for me sometime?”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said under his breath.

“Oh, c’mon, I haven’t heard you sing in forever.”

“Sweets, I would sing you Abba’s entire back catalog before I ever sang _that_ song.”

“Do you even know how to play their entire back catalog?”

“I’d learn.”

“That seems a bit extreme.”

“Yeah, well…”  They stopped at an intersection to wait for the light to change.  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him.  “Do you actually care or are you just trying to change the subject?”

“Both.”

It was a typical John response, and it made her break out in laughter.  John seemed a bit bewildered by her reaction, but she kissed him and he relaxed.  “You do know that you’re buying me whatever I want, right?”

“Feel free to order the best entrée off the menu, Princess.”

It turned out that John had had the hot dog stand across the street in mind when he’d made his offer.  Claire was sensible and got only mustard on her hot dog.  John, on the other hand, ordered his Chicago-style.  She watched, eyes wide in horror, as the vendor piled the toppings—which included among other things onions, peppers, relish, and a pickle spear—onto his hot dog.

“I hope you’re planning on brushing your teeth after you eat that,” she said.

“I’ve got gum.”  He took a huge bite, and moaned in pleasure as he chewed.  “I’ve missed this,” he said with his mouth half-full.

She watched him in amusement.  “They don’t have hot dogs in Detroit?”

He shook his head and swallowed.  “Not like this, they don’t.”

“C’mere.”  He had a glob of mustard at the corner of his mouth, which she licked away.  That action promptly led to a kiss and the eventual realization that it was difficult to make out when both parties involved were trying not to drop their food or get condiments on each other.

John finally took a step back and said very matter-of-factly, “We’re either going to have to stop or find an alley somewhere.”

Claire chewed her bottom lip as she contemplated their options.  It was tempting, but the thought of scraping her back on the rough brick of a dank alley wall made the idea less appealing.  “You’re staying with me tonight, right?”  He nodded in response, and she decided that they could wait until they got back to her apartment.

She regretted her decision almost immediately.  Alley-sex, though uncomfortable, would have been far less torturous than waiting turned out to be.

They made out on the train platform, not caring that they were likely not the only ones there.  She hadn’t even thought to check.  John’s hands were firm on her backside, holding her against him, making sure she knew he was already hard.  On the train, he whispered all the things he wanted to do to her in her ear, while she kept her hand as high up on his thigh as she dared.

The rest of the way was a sprint home, and in the elevator, she curled her fingers around his neck.  When they kissed, she could taste the mint on his breath from the gum he’d chewed while on the train. 

“Mmm, much better than pickles and onions,” she said.

“I live to please.”

“I’m going to hold you to that tonight.”

“Not a problem.”  His hand slid up under her shirt.  “Why do you live so damn high up?”

“No idea,” she said impatiently.

They practically tumbled out of the elevator when the doors opened, and didn’t stop kissing until they reached her door and she had to extract her keys from her purse.  She would’ve been able to unlock the door faster if she didn’t have John behind her kissing her neck.  She nearly dropped the keys altogether when he worked his way up and started nibbling on her earlobe.  Finally, she got the door open.

They lost their shoes and socks, and her shirt on the way to the bedroom.  His flannel shirt ended up on the floor next to her bed, while his t-shirt landed on a lamp, causing it to teeter precariously.

He chuckled, and placed a kiss on her bare shoulder.  “Nice shot.”

She shivered at the feel of his lips on her skin.  “I was aiming for the chair.”

John started kissing her lower, and lower, until he was on his knees in front of her.  He placed a kiss on her stomach and helped her remove her jeans.  When he didn’t get up right away, she gazed down at him.  He had the look on his face he used to get when they first started dating.  The one that said he couldn’t quite believe that something good was actually happening to him.  Awe mixed with wonder mixed with joy.

She tugged him up onto his feet again.  “This isn’t a dream,” she said softly.

“I know.”  His answer was a low whisper, and when he kissed her, it was with reverence.  Slow, and so deep she could feel it down to her toes.  All traces of earlier desperation were gone.  There was no longer a need to rush.  The kiss was an understanding.

One night would never be enough.

Claire walked forward and John moved backwards until his legs hit the bed.  He sat, taking her with him, and they ended up face-to-face, with her straddling his lap.  His hands slid up her back as she unbuttoned his jeans, and deft fingers unfastened the hooks of her bra.  He brought the straps down her arms and tossed the garment aside.

She gasped when his lips found a breast.  One hand supported her back when she arched into him, and the other slipped between her legs.  “Over the panties, no bra,” he murmured in between kisses, and pulled them both down onto the bed.

She tugged at his jeans and John lifted his hips so that she could get them and his boxers off.  He shifted, swinging his legs up onto the bed, and Claire climbed over him, straddling his waist once more.  Only a thin layer of fabric separated them.  “How did the rest of that go?” 

“Mmm, something about you riding me until you scream my name,” he said, flashing her a devilish grin.

She gave him a petulant look.  “That’s not how it went.”

“That’s how it’s going to go.”  John tried to pull her down to him, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“When did you first realize that you wanted me?”

He gave her a blank look.  “Tonight, or…?”

She shook her head.  “The day we met.  You’ve never said, and I want to know.”

“ _Now_?  Can’t I tell you after we—”

“No.”

He tilted his head, as if considering her request.  Finally, he said, “Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you”

She leaned down and kissed him.  However, when she tried to pull away, he held her tight against his chest. 

“When you used your cleavage to put on lipstick,” he whispered hotly in her ear.  “Obviously.”

He let her go, and when she rolled off him, he was laughing.  She swatted him playfully on the shoulder.  “I was serious!”

“Well, what about you?” he countered, turning his head towards hers on the pillow.  “You can’t tell me it was love at first sight on your end either.”

“Nope.  I loathed you right from the start,” she proudly proclaimed.  “I thought you were cocky and irritating.”

He smirked and rolled onto his side to face her.  “My finest qualities.”

She walked her fingers down the trail of dark hair on his stomach.  “And I didn’t like you at all when you stuck your head between my legs.”

“Of course not, proper, pristine girl that you were.”  He pulled at the waistband of her panties and she slipped them the rest of the way off.   

“Even though I may have been turned on by it,” she teased.

John’s eyebrows raised.  “Shit, why didn’t you tell me?  We could’ve done it in the closet and given Vernon a real eyeful when he came to collect me.”

She rested her forehead against his shoulder.  “Oh, god.  I don’t want to be thinking about Vernon watching us when I’m with you.”

He chuckled.  “Sorry.”

She looked up again.  “And you talk big, but I know you were scared shitless the first time we had sex.”

John flipped them so that he was on top.  “I was afraid I was going to break you.”

“You did,” she told him.  “You ruined me for every other man.”

“Good.”

Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, fusing her body even tighter with his.  The first time they had gotten together, there had been so many misunderstandings.  This time she didn’t want to leave any doubt in his mind.  She looked him in the eyes as she confessed, “It’s always been you, John.  I’ve always and only ever wanted _you_.”


	15. Scars

The first time Claire awoke the next morning, John was spooned around her, and his hand was drawing gentle outlines on her breast.  When she stirred, his hand moved lower, and she draped her leg over his hip to give him better access.  His fingers were magic, she decided, in a barely awake dream state.  She cried out in pleasure when he entered her, and he murmured beautiful things, as he laid kisses on her skin, that brought tears to her eyes.

The second time she woke up, the other half of the bed was empty, but a delicious aroma of coffee filled the air.  It called to her, like a siren’s song, and she reluctantly climbed out of bed.  Her muscles were sore, and remembering how they had gotten that way made her smile.

Their clothes were still scattered about the room where they’d landed, with exception of John’s jeans, which presumably he was wearing.  She reached down to pick up his flannel shirt, and slipped it on, buttoning it up as she walked through the apartment.  The well-worn fabric was soft against her skin, and it enveloped her in John’s scent.

She moved quietly through the apartment, and was unsurprised to find the balcony door wide open.  The faint odor of cigarette smoke wafted into the living room.  In the kitchen, Claire’s favorite mug was waiting for her on the counter next to the coffee maker.  She was glad that John had felt comfortable enough to make himself at home in her kitchen.  She poured herself a cup, and then added cream from the fridge.

She walked back into the living room, but paused at the balcony door to watch John while she sipped her coffee.  He was leaning with his forearms on the railing, looking out over the city.  There was a lit cigarette between his fingers.  He seemed to be deep in thought. 

She set her mug on the little patio table next to his, and came up behind him.  Tension radiated off him.  She pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder blade, and then ran her hand down his left arm, letting her fingers trace lightly over the long scar.

“I went to see my parents last month,” he said suddenly, flicking the ash off the end of the cigarette and watching it scatter in the breeze.

Her fingers stilled, and she moved to his side so that she could see his face.  Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that.  “Are you okay?”

John crushed the cigarette out on the railing and straightened up.  “Yeah.”  He sighed heavily.  “It was so…  I still don’t know how to process it.  My old man answered the door.  Goddamned son of a bitch had to be home, right?  What are the odds?”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “But he was there in front of me again, and for one, brief second I was scared out of my mind.  I mean, there he was, the man who’d intimidated me for eighteen fucking years.  The man I hated more than anyone.” 

He paused, lost in the memory, and it looked like he was fighting an internal battle.

“There was something…in his eyes or—  And I just thought, ‘this sad, pathetic old man lost both of his sons’.  I actually felt a twinge of pity for the bastard.  How fucked up is that?  My _father_.”  He turned to her.  “Do you think he’s always been like that?”

“And you were just too in the middle of it to notice?”

“Yeah.”

Claire shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.  Or maybe he didn’t understand how much he had pushed you away until after you left.”

“Hmm.”

“You said that he got extra strict with you after your brother died, right?  Maybe that was his way of dealing with what had happened.  I mean, I’m not defending him, but David essentially died because he didn’t listen and ran out into the street.  Maybe your dad tried to make sure that you’d always do what he said.”

“Well it worked,” he said wryly.

Claire was almost afraid to ask, but, “How was—were you able to see your mom?” 

He nodded.  “She looked a lot better.  She even hugged me.”

“That’s great,” Claire said.

“Yeah,” he replied in an unsure tone.

“John?  That’s a good thing, right?”

He shrugged.  “She wants me to come back and visit.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“I don’t know.  Who knows how much shit I stirred up by going back?  They were better off without me.  Everyone was better off without me.”

“That’s not true.  You know that, right?”

He said nothing.

“John?”

“What are we doing, Claire?”

She was startled at the abrupt change in subject, and at a loss for words.  “I don’t know.”

“Because after last night, I’m not sure I can stop.”  He sounded guilty.

She tugged him to her and wrapped her arms around him.  “Me neither.”

He dropped his head onto her shoulder and buried his face in her neck.  “I’m glad you invited me back for the weekend.”

“What if…  What if I asked you to stay for more than just the weekend?”

He tensed up again and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I can’t do this to you.”

“Do what?”

“ _This_.”  He gestured between them, as if that answered her question.  “If I stay, I’m gonna fuck everything up again.”

“John, what are you talking about?”

“You—forget it.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m going to go get dressed.”

“No.”  She moved in front of him to block his exit.  “I’m not going to let you run away this time.  _Tell me_ what you were going to say.”

He stared at her, and she stared back at him.  She didn’t back down, and he finally relented. 

“You stopped drinking because I left, and if I come back to stay…”

She took a stab at finishing his thoughts for him.  “You think I’m going to start back up again?”

He looked down at the ground.  “Maybe not at first, but eventually…”

Claire’s heart nearly broke, as she finally understood the enormity of the burden John had been carrying around for all those years.  In his eyes, it had always been his fault.  He had been so used to taking the blame—for his brother’s death, for his mother’s prescription drug-addiction, for his father’s anger—that he’d thought her inability to cope with life had somehow been his fault too.

“ _Oh, John_ ,” she sighed sadly, brushing his hair off his face and tucking it behind his ear.  She cradled his face in her hands, and saw the pain in his eyes.  The thought of him being alone because he believed that he destroyed everything around him brought tears to her eyes.  “You were _never_ the reason I drank,” she said slowly, “And you leaving had nothing to do with why I stopped.”

“But—”

She shook her head.  “No, the timing was just a coincidence.  I drank _plenty_ after you left.  I lost my job, and then the apartment, and then…”  She paused.  “I want to show you something.”

***

John let Claire take his hand and lead him into the living room.  He couldn’t imagine what she wanted to show him that would change anything.  Despite what she’d said, he knew he’d had a hand in her past misery.

They sat on the couch together, and he watched as Claire lifted up a section of her hair.  It revealed a three-inch long scar on her scalp.  He couldn’t hold back the urge to run a fingertip across the scar tissue, like she had done to him on the balcony.  “How?” he asked when he was able to form words again.

Claire tucked her legs under her and drew a pillow into her lap.  “Stupidity,” she said.  “I got into in a car accident.”

John’s mind was reeling with a thousand different scenarios.  He wondered if that was what Brian had meant when he’d said Claire had had other things to deal with.  “It was bad?”

She nodded.  “I tried to drive home drunk from a party during spring break, and wrecked the Jag on a tree.  I broke my wrist, a couple of ribs, and ended up in a coma.  The doctors weren’t optimistic about my chances.”

It bothered him that she had been so close to death and he hadn’t known.  “You’re okay now, though, right?”

She nodded.  “I made a full recovery.  I didn’t even get a ticket.”

“No?”

“No, my dad covered the whole thing up and made it all go away.  I think he’d done it so often with my mom that he didn’t even blink when it happened to me.”

“Speaking of, how did your mom take it?”

“She blamed you, of course—”

“Of course.”

“—and then tried to convince me to move back home.”

“But you didn’t?”

Claire shook her head and then held her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart.  “I was _this_ close to accepting her offer though.  Rick intervened and offered me a room at his house instead.  I think he was afraid that if I moved back home, I’d never get better.  I’d just turn out like my mom.”

John nodded.  He knew all about having to get away from home in order to shake the past.  “So you stopped drinking because of the accident then?”

“In a way.  My nephews were born the day after the crash, two months early.  They were given even worse odds than I was.  And instead of focusing on his wife and worrying whether or not his sons would live, Rick also had to worry about whether or not his fucked-up sister would ever wake up from her coma.  When I realized how selfish I had been… ”  She played with the fringe on the pillow while she collected her thoughts.  “I mean, I didn’t even realize how many people I had driven away until I was in the hospital and no one but Brian and my family came to visit.”

“I would’ve,” he said quietly, drawing her to him.  He should’ve been there.  She shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.

She rested her head against his chest.  “I know.”

He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.  They both had scars, ugly reminders that prevented painful wounds from being forgotten entirely, but that was all right.  The scars were also reminders that they had healed.

John thought that he was finally beginning to understand what Claire had already figured out.  They couldn’t erase what had happened, but maybe their future didn’t have to be marred by the past.

***

A couple hours later, after showering and eating a very late breakfast, they pulled up outside of Pete’s house.  John got out and walked around the car, but stopped when he noticed that Claire hadn’t joined him. 

“Don’t you want to come in and say hi?” he asked through the open passenger-side window.

“Pete doesn’t like me,” Claire replied.

“Sure he does.”

“No, he really doesn’t.  It’s better if I wait here.”

John shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  I’m only going to be a couple of minutes anyway.  I just have to change and grab my stuff.” 

Claire smiled to herself.  Apparently, they had reached an unspoken agreement that he would be staying with her for the remainder of the holiday weekend.  Before he turned away again, she asked, “Do you have any gum on you?”

He patted his pockets, but came up empty.  “There might be some in the glove compartment though.”

After he left, Claire opened the glovebox and sighed.  Finding a pack of gum in there would be akin to finding a needle in a haystack.  It looked as though John had shoved his whole life into the small compartment.  She sifted through a stack of fastfood napkins, various receipts, a mostly-empty pack of cigarettes, a map of Detroit, and then stopped on a photograph.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it, because for a split-second, she thought that she was looking at a picture of John with his wife and kids.  She realized quickly that wasn’t the case, but the man in the photo did bear a strong resemblance to John.  It had to be his father.

Claire had never seen a picture of John when he was young, or a picture of his family, for that matter.  It surprised her, for some reason, that his family looked so normal and peaceful.  But then, it _was_ a very old photo. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bender were sitting in lawn chairs.  Mr. Bender was smoking a cigar.  He had dark hair like John’s.  His hair was shaggy, but not as long as Claire thought had been fashionable at the time.  Mrs. Bender had long, dirty-blonde hair.  It hung straight, but was pulled back from her face by a pair of sunglasses tucked behind her ears like a headband.  She was smiling, and holding a toddler dressed in a blue sunsuit on her lap. 

John was sitting on the grass between the two chairs, and held a matchbox car in one hand.  Claire smiled.  He was wearing a Batman t-shirt and plaid shorts.

She flipped it over.  The caption on the back simply read, ‘ _Memorial Day, 1972’_.  One year before his brother’s death.  John would’ve been five years old.  She placed the photo reverently on the dashboard and resumed her search.

She reached the conclusion that there was no gum a few minutes later, and then faced the task of putting everything back into the glove compartment.  It was more difficult than it sounded, as it appeared that there was only one way to make all the junk fit.  Finally, she gave up and stuffed the remaining pile of napkins into the passenger door pocket.

When John returned a few minutes later, he threw his bag into the trunk and got into the car.  He had changed into an olive-green t-shirt, and was wearing yet another flannel shirt over top of it.  When he’d left his other one at her apartment, Claire had thought that he was going to go without long-sleeves for the day.  Something told her, however, that even though he was comfortable baring his arms in public, he still wasn’t comfortable showing off his scars to her family.

His eyes landed on the photo she had left on the dashboard, and he reached over to pick it up.

“Sorry,” she said quickly.  “I forgot to put it back.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he replied, a million miles away.  “I really shouldn’t keep it in here.  I should get a frame or something.  That’s David,” he said told her unnecessarily.

She nodded, and said softly, “He looks like you.”

“Yeah.”

“And your parents?” she asked.

He nodded.  “I think my aunt took the picture.”

“Your mom’s pretty,” she said.  “And your dad has intense eyes.”

“Yeah, I thought he always had, but I guess he used to be different before he went to war.  I remember one of my uncles used to try to joke around with him, but he wouldn’t go for it.  My uncle said he had changed.  Pete’s dad, too—he said something similar.  It always made me kind of wish I had known him back then.”

“Maybe you can get to know him now.”

“I dunno.  I think it’s too late for that.  We’re never going to be the Cleavers.”

“I don’t think anyone’s family is perfect, John.”

“I guess.  You wouldn’t want—”

“What?” she asked.

“To meet them some time?”

Claire leaned over and placed her hand on his.  “When you’re ready to introduce me, I’d be happy to meet them.”

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it.  Then he started the car.  “I trust that you know where we’re going this time.”

She scowled.  “Yes, I _do_ know how to get to my own brother’s house, thank you.”


	16. An Honest Answer

John found a place to park a couple of houses down from Rick’s.  There were already a number of cars out front lining both sides of the street, and John had a feeling that the ‘small’ family gathering was actually a much bigger affair than he had been led to believe. 

“You want me to leave the car running?” he asked.

“Pessimist,” Claire replied. 

He preferred to think of it as being practical.  There was still time to reconsider—they could still call the weekend a fluke and break things off with no commitments.  Once everyone saw them together, it would be official.  They would be an item again.

John got out of the car and faced the two-story colonial and its white picket fence with as much enthusiasm as he would a firing squad.  Claire, meanwhile, slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed the pasta salad off the back seat of his car.  She held out her free hand, which he took, and they walked across the lawn, toward the side gate. 

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think we are,” she replied.  It helped that she was as much in awe of that fact as he was.

John opened the gate and motioned for Claire to go first, then took in his surroundings.  Rick’s backyard was _huge_.  The lawn backed up to a wooded area, and it looked like he even had a pool.  John didn’t know how long Rick had owned the place, but it appeared as though he was doing extremely well for himself.

Claire’s father, who was sitting in a chair on the patio, jumped up as soon as he saw them approach.  Thankfully, her mother was nowhere in sight.

“Daddy, you remember John.”

“Of course.”  Charles held out his hand, which John shook.  “It’s good to see you again, John,” he said.

“Thanks.”  John didn’t know what else, if anything, he was supposed to say.  He didn’t want to risk making a scene.  He’d always gotten along with Claire’s father, but leaving in the way that he had didn’t exactly paint him in a good light.

“Where’s mom?” Claire asked.

Charles scanned the yard.  “Oh, I’m sure she’s around somewhere…giving her opinion where it isn’t wanted.”

“Reprieve,” Claire said under her breath.

“For now,” John replied.

Charles asked them both how work was going, and then launched into a long story about how he was going to run the grill that afternoon.  Claire seemed to realize that she wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, so she handed off the pasta salad to John, which he took as his ticket out of the conversation.  When he left, Charles was trying to enlist Claire’s help in convincing Rick that his sons needed a swing set.

John carried the pasta salad over to the buffet table that was being set up under a tent next to the patio.  Claire’s aunt walked past, and he said hi to her.  She started to greet him with a smile, but then frowned and continued on without a word.  He brushed it off.

A woman that John thought might have been Kate’s mom took the Tupperware bowl from him.  “You look familiar,” she said.

“You’ve probably seen his face on a wanted poster,” an icy voice behind him said.  “Rob any good convenience stores lately?” it went on to ask.

John turned around to face Claire’s mother, Helen.  “A few,” he said politely.  “Thanks for asking.”

“I thought that ragamuffin I saw standing over here was _you_ ,” she sneered.  “My son warned me that Claire was bringing an old _ex_ with her.”

“Probably so that you wouldn’t shoot me on sight,” he said knowingly.

“Tell me—Josh, wasn’t it?  Where exactly have you been all these years?”

Like _hell_ she didn’t remember his name.  She’d cursed it so often, she would probably still be muttering it on her deathbed.  John knew that she just wanted to see if she could provoke him, and it might have worked when he was eighteen, but now it just seemed sad.  That didn’t stop him from having a little fun, however.

“Claire didn’t tell you?” he asked in a friendly tone that he would’ve used with Pete.  “I was in jail.  Yeah, when you steal as many cars as I did, eventually the law catches up with you.”  He shook his head with a smile, as if fondly recalling the memories.

Helen didn’t look amused.  “She’ll get over you by next month.”

“No,” John said, with a confidence he didn’t realize he had.  “She won’t.”  And then he walked away, leaving Claire’s stunned mother behind him.

***

Claire glanced out the kitchen window towards the patio.  Her father had donned an apron and a straw hat.  She watched in amusement, as he appeared to be trying to convince Kate to let him start the grill.  Kate looked down at her watch and shook her head.

“I can’t believe you’re letting Dad near the grill,” she said to Rick as she arranged a row of cheese slices on a plate.

“He read a whole book about grilling technique last month in preparation.  You saw how excited he was.  How was I supposed to tell him no?”

“Someone’s going to have to supervise him.”

“I nominate you,” Rick said.

“Oh, thanks.”  Claire hadn’t had much experience cooking over a grill either, but she supposed that she could at least keep him from burning the meat when some conversation or another inevitably distracted him.

“Did he tell you that he wants to buy the boys a playground?” Rick asked.

“I believe he called it a ‘swing set’,” Claire said.  “I’m supposed to try to convince you it’s a good idea.”

Rick shook his head.  “He showed me the catalog, it was a full on _playground_ set, Claire.  Like, bigger than the one at the elementary school.”

Claire laughed.  “He’s trying.”

“I know.” 

“Which is more than I can say for mom.”  She doubted if their mother even knew when the twins’ birthday was.  Minor details like that were handled by her personal assistant.

“That’s—”

“What?” she asked.  “Not fair?”

Rick rethought whatever he was going to say.  “Dad made her promise not to drink today.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Speaking of the unseen, where’s John?  I haven’t had a chance to welcome him back.”

Claire hadn’t seen him since sending him off with the pasta salad, although that wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary.  It had been a habit of his to wander off during every family gathering she’d dragged him along to, and she was sure that today was no exception.  He never went far, and usually she’d find him in an empty room, dozing on a sofa or in a chair.  She’d wake him up with a kiss and then they’d make-out.  It had always been the highlight of those holidays. 

“I don’t know,” she told Rick.  “He’s probably trying to keep as far away from mom as possible.”

***

“You do it,” John heard someone whisper.

“No, you,” another hushed-voice said.

“He’s going to be mad,” the first whisperer argued.

Though he had woken up, John continued to feign sleep, hoping whoever was discussing him would ultimately decide to leave him alone.  That was the whole point in finding an out of the way spot in the corner of the yard to fall asleep in.  All hope of that happening was lost, however, when he felt something sharp jab him in the ribs.

“Fu—ow!”  John opened his eyes to find two identical little boys standing in front of him. 

One of them was holding a long stick.  He quickly dropped it when he heard John yell.  “I told you,” he said to the other boy.

“Did you hit me over the head, too?” John asked, rubbing his side.  “I think I’m seeing double.”

“No, we’re twins,” one boy brightly answered.  “That’s Charlie and I’m Chris.”

Claire’s nephews.  “Right.”  He shifted into a more comfortable position against the tree.  “What do you want?”

The boys apparently decided he wasn’t a threat, and ventured closer to him.  “We’re bored,” Charlie said.  “The grown-ups are playing badminton and the big kids won’t play with us either.”

“Is that why you’re over here too?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, something like that,” John said.

They sat down next to him.  Chris looked at him, head tilted, and considered him for a moment.  “Are you Aunt Claire’s new boyfriend?”

“What do you think?” he asked.

Chris shrugged.

“You’re not like her other boyfriends,” Charlie supplied.

John wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he asked anyway, “Why, what were the others like?”

“They had shorter hair,” Chris said matter-of-factly.

“And they never wanted to talk to us,” Charlie added.

“I can’t imagine why not.”

“Do you want to see our fort?” Chris asked.  “It’s over there.”  He pointed to a clump of trees behind John.

“I guess.”  He stood up and let the boys lead him further into the stand of trees.

The ‘fort’ was a couple of boards and a few branches balancing precariously between two Y-shaped trees.  “Yeah, that’s certainly something all right,” John said, inspecting their workmanship.  It wasn’t up to code, but for two five-year-olds, it wasn’t half-bad.

“I wish it was better,” Chris said, and kicked a large branch that was in the way.

“Can you can help fix it?” Charlie asked.

“Sure, what were you thinking?  Built-in bookcases?  Some cabinets over here in the kitchen?” he asked, gesturing at the big rock he imagined they used as a table.  “Though, if you want cable, I’m going to have to call a guy I know.” 

They snickered and informed him, as though he hadn’t noticed, that they didn’t even have a TV.

“You’re right,” he said.  “We’d better make sure the place won’t collapse on you before we install cable.”

With much effort, John pulled the large branch out of the way, and started to break off smaller sections so that they could them to reinforce the wall.  What he really needed were his tools, or at the very least, a hammer and some nails.

“So, uh, how many boyfriends would you say that your Aunt Claire has had?”

Charlie just shrugged, but Chris answered, “A hundred?”

John sighed.  He should’ve known better than to ask.

***

Claire searched the house, but found no sign of John.  When she came back downstairs, she found her mother, however.  She greeted her with a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Should you have brought a convicted felon to a house with young children?” her mother asked.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Claire replied.  “Things have been going really great at work.  Thanks for asking.”

“Well?  Do you think it was a wise decision?”

Claire rolled her eyes.  Her mother had been prejudiced against John ever since hearing a rumor from Claire’s friends back in high school.  First impressions carried a lot of weight with her, and the misinformation only added to her dislike of the fact that John didn’t have the ‘right’ family name.  “He’s never even been arrested.”

“That’s not what _he_ said.”

“Uh-huh, and what did _you_ say to him _first_?”  Her guilty look told Claire everything.  “That’s what I thought.”

Before her mother could respond, Rick stepped in and saved her.  “Hey, Claire?  Can you bring the hot dogs out to Dad?  I have to finish making the burgers.” 

She shot her brother a grateful look and took the plate of hot dogs outside.  She was less thankful for the task, however, when she remembered that she was supposed to also supervise the cooking.

“Are you sure the flames should be that high?” she asked, eyeing the grill warily.

Her father contemplated the fire that extended half a foot up from the grate.  “It does seem a little excessive, doesn’t it?”

While he searched for the knob to adjust the flame height, Claire watched the badminton game.  It was impossible to tell who was winning, as they didn’t seem to be playing by any official rules.  If someone swung a racket and missed, they just picked up the shuttlecock and tried again. 

A small commotion near the edge of the woods diverted her attention.  John darted across the lawn, chased by her nephews.  He let them catch up to him and tackle him to the ground.  Their peals of laughter carried all the way to the patio.  She can’t help but smile at the scene.  When she turned back to check on the progress that had been made with the grill, she found her father watching her thoughtfully.

“You look happy today, sweetheart,” he said.

“I am.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.  Despite what your mother has said.”

“I know.”

He looked past her shoulder at John and the boys playing.  “I always thought that he was good for you,” he said.  “He had a blue-collar attitude that I admired, and never saw in any of the boys that your mother foisted on you.”

“And then I screwed up and pushed him away.”

“He came back.  That has to mean something.”

She nodded.  It did. 

Kate brought out the plate of burgers that Rick had finished, and helped get flames on the grill down to a reasonable height.

“That’s a little low,” Mr. Standish said.  “How are they going to cook?”

Kate assured him that a low, uniform flame was better.  “There you are!” she exclaimed as John brought the boys over to the patio.  “I was wondering what mischief you were getting up to.”

“And I thought you were hiding,” Claire told John in a low voice.

John slipped his arm around her and kissed her temple.  “I was,” he whispered in her ear.

“We showed John our fort,” Charlie excitedly told Kate.

“Uh-huh, and he helped us fix it so it’s much better now,” Chris said.

“That was nice of him,” Kate said.  “I hope you said thank you.”

“Thank you,” they said in unison.

“Now, go find Daddy in the kitchen and tell him you need to get washed up.  We’re going to eat soon.”  She watched them run off and turned to John.  “I hope they didn’t bother you.”

“Not too much, and if you ever need someone to build them a real fort, let me know.” 

“Could you really?” Claire’s father asked.

“Sure.”  He stopped when he saw Kate’s panicked look and subtle head shaking.  “But, uh, that kind of thing requires a permit, and a lot of planning, and—Claire, weren’t you going to show me something?”

Claire held back a laugh, and led him over to the side of the house.  “You have to be careful what you say around him.”

“Oh c’mon, what kid wouldn’t want a fort?  And it’s not like it would be that hard.” 

“You say ‘fort’, he hears ‘entire village’.”

“I could do that too,” he said.  “I could build a general store, a saloon, maybe a jail...”

Claire smiled at his enthusiasm.  “Do you have pictures of the things you’ve built?  I’d love to see them.”

He shook his head.  “It’s mostly been cabinets and shelves for other people, you know?  But there are a few things in my apartment that I made.  I’ll show you sometime.”

“It’s time to eat,” Aunt Sally announced as she approached with a fruit tray.  She slowed to let Claire grab a strawberry, but snatched the tray back quickly before John could do the same. 

“Okay, what is up with your aunt?” he asked once she was out of earshot.  “That’s the second time she’s given me the evil eye.”

“Thanksgiving, 1985.”

John furrowed his eyebrows.  “Which one was— _oh_.”  A slow grin spread across his face.  “Riiiight.”

Claire blushed.

He cleared his throat.  “I should probably go wash up before we eat.”

“Good idea.”

But the look he gave her as he left told her that he had other things on his mind.

***

Helen was sipping an iced tea in the family room when John walked through on his way to the bathroom.  She beckoned him over, much like a queen on a throne would to one of her lowly subjects, and for some reason he complied.  Happy thoughts of Claire faded as he braced himself for impact in five, four, three, two—

“Aren’t you a little warm in that flannel shirt, John?”

“No, actually I’m fine.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in short sleeves.  I wonder why that is?” she pried.

“It’s a fashion statement.”

“Or maybe Mad-Dog from the next cell over gave you a souvenir.”

“Nah, if I was going to get a tattoo, I would’ve gone to a professional.  Mad-Dog’s work is pretty sub-par.”

She tapped her polished nails on the arm of the chair as she contemplated him.  “Tell me, John, how much will it take to get you to leave for good?”

John was stunned.  He must have rattled her with his confidence earlier, because no matter how much he thought she’d hated him, she had never tried to _buy him off_. 

“Let’s not play games,” she continued.  “I know what you’re up to.  Your sudden return to my daughter’s good graces the year she turned twenty-five can’t be a coincidence.  Surely you remembered that that was when she would gain control of her trust.”

He hadn’t actually.  If he had even known about it in the first place.  “What would I need your money for then, if Claire’s got her own?”

“Because I’m telling you right now that the money will _never_ legally be yours.  No matter what scheme you’ve concocted.  I’m offering you a quick pay out.  A sure thing.  You’d be set for life.”

He crossed his arms over his chest.  “I’m not taking your money.”

“Everyone has a price.”

“I’m sure you’d like to think so.”

Thankfully, or unfortunately—John couldn’t decide which—it was at that point that Rick and the twins wandered through.  Rick locked eyes with John, but addressed his mother.  “Mom, can you take the boys outside and help them get seated?  I need to talk with John.”

Helen rose.  “Come along, boys, your father has some business to attend to.”  She patted Rick on the arm and said something to him in a low voice before leaving with a smug grin on her face.

A pit of dread formed in John’s stomach as he watched Helen usher the boys out the door.  He had been waiting for this moment the whole day, and frankly, it was the only confrontation that had him worried.  He could banter back and forth with Helen—no problem.  He knew she didn’t know anything.  She just didn’t like him because he wasn’t rich, and he had been dealing with that his whole life.  But Rick knew the truth, and now that they were alone, John figured that he was finally going to get what was coming to him.

 “So, how do we do this?” John asked.

Rick squared his shoulders.  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t level you right now.”

The thought of making Claire cry again made John ill.  “I can’t,” he said quietly.

“What was that?”

“There _is_ no excuse,” he said louder.  “If I were you, I’d deck me and then toss my ass out the door.”

Rick regarded his words carefully, and then slowly nodded as if that was the only answer he would’ve accepted.  “Do you remember what I told you when we first met?  About hiring assassins?”

“Yeah.  Is this another warning?”

“No.  I just wanted you to know that it may take a while, but eventually I get my revenge.  Just ask Parker Worthington.”

John remembered Claire saying something about how Parker had attacked a girl at his boarding school.  “That rumor was you?”

“It wasn’t a rumor.  I just happened to come across that bit of information a few years ago and let it spread around town.  It was a little late, but he still deserved it.  Last I heard, his wife left him because of it.”

“Damn.”

Rick took a couple of steps forward and John’s body tensed in preparation of being hit.  He hadn’t taken a punch in a long time, but his body reacted on memory, and a familiar tingling sensation of anticipation washed over him.

Rick stopped just out of reach and looked him straight in the eyes.  “One question, John.  Just one.  And if you give me an honest answer, I will never bring any of this up again.”

John nodded.  He knew what was coming.  Rick was going to ask him if he would promise not to hurt Claire again.  Of course he would.  Hell, he’d sign an agreement in blood if that was what it would take.

But the question that followed was not the one John expected.

“Why did you leave?”

John imagined that Rick thought he was a coward—someone who fled when it all got to be too much.  The truth was far more complicated than that, however.  And yet, the answer was very simple. 

“Because I loved her too much to stay.” 


	17. Promise of the Future

Claire handed John a paper plate when he finally entered the tent under which everyone had gathered for dinner.  She was waiting to get in the buffet line until he joined her, and had begun to wonder if he had gotten lost on the way back from washing his hands. 

“There you are.  I was just about to—”  She stopped abruptly when she noticed the subdued look on his face.  She knew that look.  That was his ‘I’m just a bum and I don’t deserve anything good that happens to me’ look.  The day had been going so well up until that point.  “What happened?”

“Your brother is fucking terrifying,” he replied, and spooned a pile of baked beans onto his plate.

She scanned the crowd under the tent and saw Rick chatting casually with an uncle.  Nothing about his demeanor suggested anything out of the ordinary had happened.  She turned back to John and gave him a quick once over, checking to make sure that she hadn’t missed a split lip or torn shirt.  No, he looked intact. 

“What did Rick do?”

“He didn’t have to _do_ anything.  But let’s just say that we’ve reached an understanding.”

Claire wasn’t sure what to make of that, but she cautiously decided that it was a good thing.  She passed John the spoon for the pasta salad and picked up a hamburger bun.  “So, I take it you’re not afraid he’s going to poison you anymore?”

“Oh, no.  If he ever decides to kill me, he’s going to do it while looking me square in the eyes.”

Claire frowned.  She still thought John was being overly dramatic.  Her brother was protective, yes, but he wasn’t _evil_.  “John—”

“Relax.  I told you, we’re cool.”  John pointed across the tent with the spoon.  “Now your mom on the other hand, she seems like the poisoning type.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered under her breath in disbelief, though she could hardly argue with the sentiment.  Instead, she did her best to derail John’s current train of thought.  “You’re so worried about things that aren’t going to happen that you missed that Jell-O you like.”

“Shit!”

Claire grinned as she watched him pile the little squares of Jell-O onto his plate with child-like glee.  She remembered when he had first seen it at a family dinner years ago, and how amazed he’d been by the thin, rainbow-colored layers.  _How had they made it like that?_ he’d wondered in awe.  It was adorable, though she would never admit it to his face.

He caught her smile when he looked up.  “What?”

She shook her head.  “I’m just really glad that you’re here with me today.”

***

That evening, after they’d cleaned up from dinner, Claire went inside to grab the bug spray that Kate had offered.  The mosquitoes were out in force and the citronella torches weren’t doing enough, at least in Claire’s opinion, to keep them at bay.  She’d left John and her father discussing hypothetical plans for a tree fort.  Neither one of them seemed to be bothered by the insects.

“You’re just sweeter than we are,” her father said.  Claire couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough at the corny joke, and John had to bite his lip to keep from snickering.

The kitchen lights were off when Claire entered the house.  She flipped them on and found the bug spray on the counter where Kate had left it.  She picked it up and was about to leave when she realized that she wasn’t alone.  Her mother was sitting at the island, staring down at the glass in front of her.  If she noticed Claire was there, she didn’t say anything.

It would’ve been easy to ignore her and go back outside.  But something compelled Claire to make an effort to reach out to her.  “Wouldn’t you rather be outside with everyone, Mom?  We’re getting ready to—”

“I don’t like this, Claire.  I don’t like this at all,” she repeated like a mantra.  “Not one bit.”

Claire sighed.  She had a feeling she knew the answer, but asked anyway, “What don’t you like?”

“Seeing you throw your life away.  What about what’s his name?  Jim…Jimmy…James?  The doctor.  He was nice.”

Claire sighed.  “John is nice too.  We’ve been over this before.”

“Yes, but I knew you’d have your fling and then get over him.  What about that model, Christian?”

 “Tristan?  We were never serious.”

“You could have been.”

“I didn’t love him.  I didn’t love any of them.”  Claire walked over and picked up her mother’s glass. 

“Do you love _him_?” 

Claire sniffed the contents and frowned.  “I thought you weren’t going to drink today.”

“I found that I needed one after all.”

 “Ah, yes, drink to cope with all of life’s disappointments.  That’s what you taught me, isn’t it?  Something doesn’t go your way, something gets too stressful, have a drink, it’ll help.”  Claire set the glass back down in disgust. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.”          

“You threw everything away.  Everything!  Just so that you could move in with some boy you dated a couple of times.  He’s a bad influence, Claire, and I don’t like it.” 

She was talking in the past now.  Claire remembered the conversation from eight years ago when she informed her parents that she had moved in with John.  It hadn’t gone well then either.

“John wasn’t just ‘some boy’ that I dated!  I was more in love with him than you’ll—”  Claire caught herself.  Yelling was doing neither one of them any good.  She drew a deep, calming breath.  “I gave him one of Grandma’s diamond earrings, you know.  On the first day that I met him.”

That got her mother’s attention, and she finally looked up.  “I knew she was a fool to give them to a fourteen year old.”

“She wanted them to go to someone who understood what they meant.”

“ _I_ understood what they meant!”  She slammed her glass on the counter to emphasize her point.  “ _My_ _father_ was the one who gave them to her.  They were six-thousand dollar earrings, Claire.”  She counted off on her fingers, “Two-point-five total carats, flawless, set in platinum—”

Claire interrupted her.  “That’s not what I was talking about and you know it.”

Her mother didn’t look convinced.  “I suppose this is the part where you tell me that he sold it for drug money after he dumped you?”

Though it was _technically_ true that John had pawned the earring after leaving her, Claire certainly wasn’t going to admit it.  “He’s wearing it today, if you care to notice,” she replied.  “I know you never liked John, but you also never gave him a chance.  You took one rumor at face value and then held his non-privileged upbringing against him.  That’s not fair.”

“But I was right in the end, wasn’t I?  He left you, didn’t he, Claire?  With all those bills, and that pitiful excuse for an apartment.  And then the accident…”

“All of which was _my_ fault.  No one else put those drinks in my hand.  _I_ screwed up.  Me.”

“Anything you want to add?” she asked.  She was no longer focused on Claire, but instead was looking at someone behind her.  

Claire glanced back over her right shoulder.  John was in the doorway, and beside him was her dad, who had a resigned look on his face.

“We came in to get the marshmallows,” her dad explained.  “But I think it’s time we go, Helen.”  He walked over to the island, and tried to take her arm, but she shrugged him off.

“I’m trying to help our daughter see reason, Charles.”  She narrowed her gaze at John.  “He’s hiding something and I want to know what it is.”

“Mom, stop it.  You’re upset with _me_.  Leave John alone.”

But like a shark, she sensed blood in the water, and went in for the kill with a perverse look of joy on her face.  “It must be reeeally bad if he’s ashamed of it.”

Claire looked back at John and saw him nod at her mother.  “You’re right.  I _am_ hiding something.”  He shrugged off his flannel shirt as he walked towards them and tossed it onto the island countertop.  “But I’m not ashamed.  I just don’t like having to explain my shitty childhood.  Because when people see these, they usually have questions.”  He held out his forearms so that both of her parents had a clear view.

 “John, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s all right, Claire, I’ve got this.”

He pointed to the round scar on his right arm.  “The first time I got this one, I was _nine_.  I knocked over an ashtray while I was playing.  My father didn’t like it when I made a mess of things.  He liked everything in order.  I had to hold out my arm so that he could use _me_ as an ashtray.  The second time?  I was thirteen.  I spilled paint in the garage.  He was upset that the scar had almost faded, so he thought he’d drive the point home and make my reminder a little bit more permanent.”

“And this one,” he pointed to the long scar on his left arm, “I got when I was seventeen.  I broke a glass, and my father dragged one of the shards across my arm as punishment.”  He admired the thick, shiny scar, twisting his arm.  “I probably should’ve had stitches, but I was a stupid kid who didn’t want to go to the hospital because they asked too many questions.  Luckily, I had a smart girlfriend who cared enough about me to not let me bleed out in the street.”

Mrs. Standish looked aghast.  “Well.”

“Are you happy now?”  Claire asked, wiping away the tears that had fallen. 

Her mother answered in a dejected tone.  “Not in a very long time.”

***

John left Claire with her parents and went outside.  He had lost it when he looked over and saw that she was crying because of him.  He felt like he was seventeen again, helplessly watching her tear up as she rinsed his blood off her hands.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.   _Fuck_.  He really hadn't meant to have any more confrontations with Standish family members that evening, least of all Helen again.  Worse, was knowing that Claire would blame herself.  She was going to think that he was hurting.  But the weird thing was, that he wasn't.  The pain of those childhood memories had long vanished.

Everyone else was on the lawn in advance of the fireworks.  The kids were playing.  Some of the adults were setting up chairs or blankets, others were building the bonfire.  He wandered past them and found a secluded area by the garage where he could light up a cigarette without the risk of getting a lecture from a doctor. 

Being around a bunch of Claire’s family members didn’t feel as awkward or as foreign as it had when he was eighteen.  For the first time in a very long time, John let himself remember memories that he’d buried when his brother died.  He’d once been a part of something that felt like this.  A little boy in plaid shorts, running around trying to catch his cousins.  Family picnics, birthdays, holidays.  At one point in his life, those events were normal. 

But then they had stopped going out, and eventually, the rest of his extended family stopped coming over.  Everyone just decided to give up on them, and John thought that his parents must have given up on themselves too.  It had been easier to ignore the pain than to figure out how to live with it.  He wished he had understood that years ago.

Families weren’t perfect.  He supposed that Claire was right about that.  It was just weird thinking of himself as having—or as being a part of—a family again.  He had been alone for so long that it was going to take some getting used to.  Maybe he would visit his parents for Christmas, and see how things went.  If it wasn’t a complete disaster, maybe he’d think about bringing Claire with him the next time.  His family wasn’t much, but they were all he had.

John snubbed the cigarette butt out in a nearby planter and made it exactly five steps away from the garage before being spotted by the twins.

“John!” they cried in unison as they adjusted course and ran directly at him.  They were each dragging what looked like a small tree branch, tucked under their arms.

When they stopped short of barreling into him, he asked, “You going around poking people again?  I thought we already established that wasn’t a cool thing to do.”

“Kyle said we needed sticks or we couldn’t have marshmallows,” Chris explained, half out of breath.

“Ah.”  John didn’t know who Kyle was, but he could imagine how that conversation had gone.  He plucked the branches from their hands and knelt down in front of them.  “Well, I don’t think he meant for you to bring back the entire forest.”

He snapped the end of each of the branches off to make them a more manageable length.  Then, after removing the small twigs and dead leaves from the two sticks, John pulled his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket.  Sensing he had the twins' undivided attention, he looked up.  “You ever seen one of these before?”  He held out the knife in his palm with the blade closed.

They shook their heads. 

“What does it do?” Charlie asked.

“Pretty much everything a man could need it to do.”  He opened the various tools one by one, and explained the purpose of everything from the fish scaler to the corkscrew.

Chris pointed to the white square at the top of the knife.  “What’s that?”

John slid the plastic implement out of the red handle and held it up for them to see.  “It’s a toothpick.” 

Charlie wrinkled his nose.  “Why does it have a toothpick?”

“I dunno, but they always come with one.”

“Do you use it?”  Chris wanted to know.

“Sure.  I use it to pick the fish guts out of my teeth all the time.”

“Eww!” the boys squealed.

John chuckled and then told them to stand back so that he could strip the bark and whittle a point on the end of each of the sticks.  When he was finished, the twins inspected their newly carved marshmallow spears and approved of his modifications.  Then they ran off, presumably to show them off to anyone that would listen.

In hindsight, he probably should’ve gone over the ‘pointy stick’ ground rules before letting them go.  If someone lost an eye that night, he was definitely getting the blame.

He caught up with them quickly and grasped hold of their shoulders.  “Whoa!  Rule number one: no stabbing anyone with your sticks.  Rule number two: don’t run with them pointed out like that unless you’re hunting a wild animal.  Actually, on second thought, no running with sharp sticks at all.  Got it?”

The boys nodded, and John let them go.  They walked, albeit rather quickly, toward the group of other kids.  John counted that as a win.  Never let it be said that he wasn’t a responsible adult.

“Thanks for arming my kids with weapons, John.”

Everyone was a critic.  John turned to find Rick blocking the path to the house.  It _would_ be him, John thought wryly.  Even though there were at least twenty other people at the picnic that he could’ve, or would’ve rather, run into, including the aunt who had seen his naked ass.

“No problem.” 

Rick didn’t say anything in response, but John could feel him quietly assessing him as they stood there watching the boys. 

“This is the part where you tell me that since your kids like me, I can’t be _all_ that bad,” John helpfully supplied.

Rick laughed deeply and shook his head.  And then he slapped John on the shoulder and walked away still laughing.

John frowned.  He didn’t think it was _that_ funny.

***

After a quick search of the house, John found Claire.  She was upstairs, in what he assumed was a guest bedroom, curled up on the bed with his flannel shirt over her like a blanket.  She watched him with a guarded expression.

“This is a switch, me having to find you.”  He sat on the edge of the bed.  “Are you tired?”

“Just a headache,” she replied.  “I took some aspirin.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“No, it’s already starting to lessen up.  I don’t want to miss the fireworks.”

John lay down next to her, and she tucked herself under his arm and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I hate when my mom gets like that,” she said.

“I know how it is.”

“She shouldn’t have provoked you.” 

“No, but I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

“I’m okay, Claire.”  He brought her hand up to his lips so that he could kiss her palm, and then placed it on his chest over his heart.  “I get that your family is part of the package if I want to be with you.  And today wasn’t so bad.”

“Maybe she’ll start to come around.”

“Maybe.”  But he doubted it, and from the sound of it, so did she.  He rested his hand on top of hers and the other rubbed her back. 

There was a thought, which in truth had occurred to John not long after the wedding.  It was an idea that blind-sided him as he climbed into his car, and then haunted him all the way back to Detroit.  It had been too terrifying to fully consider before, but suddenly it didn’t seem so crazy.

“I’m thinking about moving back here when my lease is up in October.”

Claire raised her head and looked up at him.  “Are you sure?”

His hand on her back stilled as he tried to figure out how to tell her what he felt.  He settled on giving her an answer to the question she’d asked him the previous night.  “Do you remember in detention, when Vernon was grilling me about that missing screw, and you took the heat off of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“That was when I knew,” he confessed.  “And I’ve never stopped wanting you.  If this is our second chance, then I’d be an idiot not to take it.”

She leaned up so that she could kiss him.  “I’m glad you finally figured it out.”

“I can’t promise you happily ever after,” he warned.

“I don’t need fairytales, John.  I only need you.”


End file.
